


Stars Are Blind (And So Are You)

by Novalight



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Blind Han, Dark Han Solo, Eventual Rescue, F/M, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I love to see other peoples ideas of its culture, I'm Bad At Tagging, Im sorry if this is bad, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Other, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Touching, Slave Han, Stockholm Syndrome, Tatooine Slave Culture, im trying, it gets bad then worse before it gets better, looking at you (Noon and Jaster and Doman), me trying to write a dark fic, might have to talk to friend about psychology, thank god i studied slavery last year, that explores slavery, why did jabba just keep han as a display when he could get revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:40:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novalight/pseuds/Novalight
Summary: Han wakes up from the Carbonite sleep six months early. Jabba has plans, and that includes having a now blind Solo by his side to show everyone what happens when you mess with Jabba the Hutt.Han makes friends with Noon Brentioch (badass woman who carries her life on her body), Jaster Altair-Anglethorn (a curious case of an albino man in a desert) and Doman Anglethorn (a man who simply wants to escape Tatooine with his husband and friend), while trying to adapt to Tatooine's Slave Culture the Hutts have erected. For six months, they wait.And wait.
Relationships: Han Solo & Guards, Han Solo & Jabba Desilijic Tiure | Jabba the Hutt, Han Solo & Slaves
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I binged watched The Original Star Wars movies, and as i watched the ROTJ, I thought hey, I've always wanted to write a story about slavery, but didn't have any good ideas. This popped into my head, thinking that Jabba would not turn down an opportunity to show everyone not to cross with him, so why not start by turning Han Solo into his personal slave?
> 
> This is my first Star Wars story, and I hope everything is easy to follow and doesn't jump around randomly. This is set right after Boba Fett delivers Han to Jabba. I plan to explore Stockholm syndrome, but there is no romance between main characters. Han will be forced to pleasure characters off screen, or be implied. Drug usage will be involved.

Han jerked, falling to the floor. He gasped for breath, feeling like his chest has been restricted and couldn’t breathe. Shivering, he relaxed into the rough sand beneath his body as sweat rolled down the curve of his back.

“Ah, Han Solo,” the loud and rough voice of Jabba the Hutt made Han freeze. Han began to truly panic when he realised, he couldn’t see; he was blind. Clawing at his eyes, Han only seemed to tip the grains of sand into his eyes with trembling hands.

Cursing weakly, Han sat up, feeling his arms tremble beneath him. “Jabba,” he greeted, voice hoarse and mouth dry, staring into space. Jabba chuckled, sounding more from the left, so Han turned to face the Hutt. Or, at least, Jabba’s general direction.

“My boy, did you really think you could out run me?” Jabba rumbled as strong arms grabbed at Han’s biceps, pulling him forward. Han sagged in their hold, feeling dizzy from the sudden movement.

“I’ve been busy,” Han managed to say before he started to cough, but managed to force out “I was on my way to pay you, actually.”

“Too late for that, Solo,” Jabba rumbled. Tilting his massive head to the side, Jabba’s orange eyes narrowed as he took in Solo’s appearance. Pale, slick from sweat and shaking like a leaf, Solo stared to the right of Jabba, his eyes un-seeing and blank. Leaning closer, Jabba held in a chuckle upon seeing Solo’s eyes.

Solo’s dark brown eyes have gotten paler with each minute. Jabba didn’t know if was because of the carbonite, or it was the result in Solo accidently pouring sand into his already damaged eyes. No matter.

He looked at the guards holding Solo. “Take Solo to the cells. Leave him for three days.”

Nodding, the guards hauled Solo up and began to drag him towards the stairs. He stumbled and tripped, body weak and blind. Jabba leaned back, his Court jeering and laughing at Solo.

His current slave by his side, Leandra, was beginning to become un-appealing. Her skin was starting to sag, with wrinkles appearing over her body. Jabba hummed to himself, deep in thought. A wicked smile over took his lips as he thought of a plan that will show everyone to not mess with Jabba the Hutt.

He has never publicly been seen with a male slave. It was time to change that, he thinks.

Han was shoved, roughly, into a cold room. He fell, rather gracelessly, into the sand face first. He doesn’t move immediately, waiting for the room to stop spinning. If the world wasn’t spinning, Han would be cursing up a storm.

Turning onto his back, Han stared into the black. It was strange, as his last memory was full of colour, but now…. Han sees nothing. He tries to ignore the panic, even as it wells up inside of chest and makes breathing hard.

He could do this. All Han can do is wait for Luke, Chewie and Leia to save him after Lando ratted them out. Well, at least Lando tried to save them in the end.

Once his body stopped shaking, Han sat up. Slowly, he managed to stand. Feeling silly, Han walked forwards, careful in his steps with his hands sprawled in front of him. Eventually, Han could feel the smoothed-out stone that made up the walls of the cell.

Han felt the wall, feeling how cold it was. He noticed that it was slightly damp. He frowned, rubbing the cold liquid between his hands. What Han couldn’t see was that he was rubbing blood between his fingers, as the slumped figure of a female sat just a few feet away, her jugular slashed in self-inflicted wounds.

Despite how dry his mouth and throat were, Han couldn’t trust his surroundings. At least until he gets his eye sight back. Huffing, Han sat down, away from the cold, heating sucking wall.

It was time to wait to see what Jabba comes up as punishment.

_Three Days Later_

Throat dry and his mouth killing him, Han lay shivering in the cooling sand. Han quickly learned that during the day, the cell would get unbearably hot, the sand burning his limbs. Then, when night arrived, the heat was traded for a bone chilling temperature.

Han hated it. He hated Jabba and his mind tricks. He couldn’t rest, as it was too hot or too cold, leaving him shivering.

Han heard the door to his cell creak open, then heard footsteps muffled by the sand. “He dead?” a rough, scratchy voice asked, sounding bored.

“Let’s check.”

Han groaned, a boot harshly kicking his back. The boot was made of rough and hard leather, with a thick sole, allowing more movement in the sand.

“Well, that answers our question. Jabba will be pleased you survived, Solo,” the first guard laughed, the second guard joining in. “Grab the rations.”

Rations? Han turned his head, looking towards the voices.

“That sure got his attention, didn’t it?” the second guard sneered, voice sounding far away, likely getting the rations. The first hum’s his agreement, and Han could feel their eyes on him. His skin crawled, unable to see their expressions. Where they angry, indifferent or pleased at his survival?

“Sit up!” The first said, once again kicking Han’s back. Wincing, Han did so on shaky limbs.

“Aw, look at him. All weak looking and shit.” Second said, placing something in front of Han. “Almost makes you want to buy him.”

Han scowled. “I ain’t a slave, pal,” he said, feeling for the bowl. It was made of metal, and filled with liquid. The Guards just laughed, as if they knew someone Han didn’t. “I’m Han Solo.”

“Yea, we know who you are.” The second sounded amused. “Word has gotten around, you know: Han Solo, sold to Jabba the Hutt by famous bounty hunter - Boba Fett. Boy, you should have seen how many people came here to try and buy you.”

Han didn’t say anything, looking down at the bowl. He reached down, ready to use his hands to drink the water when First piped up. “Don’t use your hands, Solo. They are covered in blood.”

Blood? Han’s eyebrows raised in confusion. It must have shown on his face, because First simply chuckled. “You must have been playing in Inia’s blood. She was the slave here before you. She’s still in the corner. But you didn’t know that, did you, Solo?”

“Dead?” Han asked, bringing the bowl up to his face, where he began to clumsily drink the water, some drops rolling down his face and the curve of his jaw before running down his neck, passing his Adam’s apple as it bobbed while drinking down the, thankfully, cool water.

“Oh yea, that bitch killed herself. Didn’t want to be a salve, so she slit her own throat.” First sounded bored, like he was stating the weather. Han didn’t comment, even as First and Second went on about how it was a shame, she was pretty.

Han set the empty bowl down, thankful for the water. “How long has it been since I arrived?”

“Three days.” Second said, the rustling of fabric suggesting he rolled his shoulders back in a shrug. “Here.”

Something landed in front of Han, on the sand. Han reached for it, willing his hands to stop shaking. It was soft, cool. It was the feel of bread. Dusting off the sand, Han took large bites. Now that he was eating, Han realised how sore how stomach felt. With the water and bread, Han felt a bit bloated after.

“Hope you don’t throw it all back up. Jabba won’t like that,” Second said before hands grasp his bicep’s, pulling him up. Not able to do much, Han allowed it, walking with the guards as they leave the cell with the dead slave in it.

Oh Force, Han thought, I’ve been half-asleep next to a dead slave and I didn’t realise. How did he miss it, even without his vision?

As he was led through the palace, whispered followed him. Straining his ears, he managed to catch a few.

“-hear? Jabba got _Solo_ -“

“- _slave_? Thought Jabba like girls-“

“-shh! Look, _there_ he is! -“

Han gulped, feeling his stomach do flips. What horrors has Jabba prepared? Public whipping? Selling him to the highest bidder? Public execution?!

No, don’t think like that, he thought, lightly shaking his head. Luke and Leia will save him, led by Chewie. Force, Chewie is probably not let Han out of his sight. It will be like in the early days, when Chewie insisted on being there for Han after winning the Falcon from Lando, calling him his ‘Little One’.

“Where are we headed?” he asked, looking straight ahead.

“Washing chambers.” First said gruffly, voice telling Han to stay quiet.

Washing chambers? So Jabba _was_ planning on some public event.

“Here we are!” Second said, pushing Han into a warm room, filled with steam. Han couldn’t see anything, but can hear the sounds of other slaves washing clothes; no doubt from The Court.

“Noon Brentioch,” Second called. The sound of bare feet on tiled floor greeted Han’s ears.

“Nichos, what a pleasure,” a woman’s purr of a voice greeted Han. He frowned. Was she a slave?

“Noon, we have Solo for you.” First snapped, shoving Han forward. Han stumbled, but re-gained his footing, a small hand finding the small of his back in silent support.

“Thar, nice to see you again,” the woman, Noon Brentioch, sounded less happy to greet First, now Thar, than Second, now named Nichos. “Didn’t think I’d see you again, after what happened.”

“Yea, well times change, especially with the arrival of Solo.” Thar said, disgruntled.

Han wondered what happened between Noon and Thar, but didn’t dare to ask. So far, Han hasn’t been harmed. He didn’t want to risk it. Now, at least, most of the Carbonite sickness has passed, with Han now weak with hunger and thirst.

He was still blind, which was starting to worry him. He won’t be blind forever, will he?

“Yes, yes. I know. Standard procedure?” Noon asked one of them. Thar or Nichos must have nodded, because she led Han deeper into the washing chambers. She suddenly stopped, tugging on his clothes.

“Strip. I need to get you cleaned. We don’t want to anger Jabba, now do we, honey?” Noon said, stepping back. Han hesitated, before pulling off his over shift, letting it fall out his hands, and drop out of his ‘sight’.

Han sighed, overhead pulling his shirt off and putting that to the floor. Thankfully, he couldn’t see Noon’s reactions, or he’d probably would have stopped.

Next off came his boots, then his pants. He hesitated on removing his underwear. He heard Noon sigh. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, sweet cheeks. Hurry up, the faster we get this done, the faster I don’t have to see you naked.”

Finally dropping his underwear, Han was guided into a tub. It was warm, with steam rolling off the hot water. He sniffed. Was that…scented water? Just who the hell was he going to, some royal who doesn’t mind cheap labour?

“Alright, I’m going to wash out your eyes first. It will make you feel better,” Noon said, gently pouring water on his face and using a cloth to clear out the sand that had stubbornly decided to remain in his eyes. Han sighed, feeling the dry grains of sand finally leave his eyes.

Now he can hopefully have moisture return in his eyes. Blinking his eyes, Han started to wash all the grime that had gathered on his chest and arms.

Lowering her rag, Noon watched Han in silence. Noon likes Solo, mostly based on his blindness, which was shallow of her, she knows and admits. His eyes, now a pale, milky white, stood out against his face.

Solo must be the only man she has met who hasn’t commented on her beauty or body. It was why Jabba bought her in the first place, all those years ago. Now, she is mistress of the cleaning slaves, yet still one herself. The irony is not lost on her.

“So, Noon, right?” Solo asked her, looking in her general direction with a raised eyebrow. She smiled softly. At least he had manners, which, coming from a smuggler, was impressive.

“Yes. I am head slave of the washing chambers.” Noon replied, helping Solo with his hair. It was greasy, combined with the heat of Tatooine and Solo not washing it.

Silence fell. It was comforting, despite Noon helping a naked Solo ready him for his training. After all, one has to be obedient to have the honour of sitting with Jabba and his Court.

“What’s with all this? Am I being gifted to a royal? One of Jabba’s loyal men?” Solo suddenly asked.

Noon froze. He did not know? Frowning, she pours water over his head in a light stream. “You do not know of your fate, truly?”

“Yes? Why should I?” Solo asked, turning his pale eyes towards her voice.

Noon felt her chest tighten with guilt. Solo has no idea how cruel Jabba is, and what the Hutt is planning.

“Jabba is planning on publicly ruining you.” She starts, and doesn’t know how to continue. How do you tell someone that they’ll spent the rest of their life chained to one of the Outer Rim’s most dangerous crime lords?

“Ah, so it is going to be public whipping. You had me worried there,” Solo chuckled, relaxing into the tubs edge.

“Jabba has claimed ownership over you, and has planned for you to be by his side for the rest of your life.” Noon said in a rush, biting her lip once it was all out.

Solo, for his part, didn’t immediately start denying it and screaming, like most girls that come into Jabba’s personal line. He tensed, muscles visibly tightening.

“Ah, I see,” Solo said softly.

“I-I’m sorry, for having to tell you like this.” She sighed.

Solo waved her away. “It’s fine. I should have expected Jabba to do this. He knows how much I hate being tied to one place, and it seemed he holds my chains.” He chuckled darkly. “Literally.”

Noon continued to wash Solo in silence, until his skin was a healthy pink from the heat of the water. She helps him into Jabba’s degrading clothes, modified for Solo; an arm band, with ‘J’ being proudly displayed in gold. Next was the blowing cloth that hides the wears lower regions. It fitted Solo’s waist snugly, the long purple/red cloth nearly reaching the floor. Arm bracers, made from the finest gold, were clipped on. Lastly, Solo was allowed to wear boots in the place of high heels.

Thar and Nichos had returned, with Nichos eyeing Solo up with a dirty gleam in his light eyes. No doubt thinking of all the humiliating jokes, from going to smuggler of Jabba to slave of Jabba.

“Noon,” Nichos nodded, grasping Solo’s right bicep while Thar grabbed his left. They led Solo out, the man following them without a protest. Noon looked away.

She hoped that Solo will be able to escape. No one stays sane as Jabba’s personal slave for long.


	2. Chapter Two

Han allowed the two guards, Thar and Nichos, lead him…somewhere, with twists and turns that made him slightly nauseous. Without his eyes, Han was lost. He knew that his other senses would heighten, to make it up for the loss of his eyes. He knew deep in his gut, having known it from his growing denial; he was blind.

He stayed silent, something quite unusual for his standards. Han is known for his charisma and wit. Not for silence. It seemed that Thar and Nichos didn’t care. They were paid by Jabba to do their jobs; not get chatty with famous slaves.

The walk allowed Han to think, even for a bit. The Resistance would do fine without him. His thoughts eventually went through his friend group; Chewie would no doubt be itching to find him. It made him smile slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching up. Chewie was his longest friend and partner, staying by his side, despite Han declaring the Wookie free after their rather…stressful first encounter and first job.

Luke; Han tried not to think about Luke. The kid had grown on him, like a mouldy fungus. A charming, naïve fungus with sun bleached hair and tanned skin. Luke held such hope in his bright eyes that Han hoped would stay there forever. His friend was training to be a Jedi Knight, and Han hoped that everything worked out for him. The world needed more people like Luke; brave and helpful.

Lando…he was a familiar face from his past. Han should have trusted his gut when it told him something was…off about their situation. Han was thankful it wasn’t because he won the Falcon, because otherwise, Han would have tried to smooth talk his way out of the situation. At least Lando was happy, putting his smuggling days behind him to be a Baron. It strangely suited him. His betrayal, while painful, was logical. He now had responsibilities as a Baron, and sold them out to save his people.

And lastly; Leia Organa. Between her wit, sharp silver tongue that can shred anyone to pieces yet still be able to give speeches that awakens new hope and bravery in her men, Leia was strong headed. She was beautiful, and the fact that Han always gets tongue tied in mindless arguments made him fall even harder. He loved her. Their first kiss was not ideal, but Han promised himself that he would 'I love you' back to Leia.

Han was brought back to the present when he, blindly ( ~~he was starting on puns, dear god~~ ), stumbled over a small stone buried in the sand as it began to turn to stone underneath his boots. Han nearly went flying, being saved from face-planting into the cool sand by Thar and Nichos. They grunted, pulling him painfully back by his biceps to re-direct his weight. His arms throbbed, sensitive and worn.

“Watch your step, Solo,” Thar growled out. Nichos laughed. _“Oh, but he can’t!_ ” Both chuckling, Thar with his nasally growling laugh and with Nichos’ deep, but surprisingly comforting laugh. Han instantly hated their laughs, knowing it was at his expense, feeling the familiar burn on anger building in his gut that usually got him into trouble.

They both led Solo straight to Jabba, who was waiting with his Court. Upon seeing Solo, they either leered or cheered at the blind man. Thar saw Solo flinch out of the corner of his eye, and almost felt sorry for him. _Almost_ being the key word. However, Solo had been trouble since the start, and enraged Jabba to the point that the Hutt had ordered for his capture. Jabba always seemed to lose money when Han Solo is involved.

Nichos and he manhandled Solo until he was on his knees in front of Jabba, who was watching with keen eyes. They stepped back, leaving Solo’s personal space, stepping back with practised steps to be on either side of Han from exactly one and a half meters away. Just in the right distance to easily grab Han, but also to not be towering over the kneeling man.

Solo looked around; eyes unseeing as he tried to figure out why he here. Perhaps he was going to get whipped after all.

“Han Solo,” greeted Jabba in his loud, rumbling voice. He narrowed his eyes at Han, who was looking straight up at him instead of to the side. _Good_ , Jabba thought with a pleased rumble, _know your place._

“Jabba,” Han greeted back. “I hear I’m to be your personal slave.”

Jabba chuckled, leaning back into his lounge. Was that anger he heard in Solo’s voice? For a smuggler, Han has always let his emotions run riot. It was what made him indebted to Jabba in the first place by fear of being found with his Spice by Imperials.

“Yes, yes. I need to make an example out of you, Solo. What better than putting a chain on your neck?” Jabba laughed in Solo’s face as the man went slightly pale, his milky eyes widening then narrowing in anger. Han felt his anger boil over. How dare Jabba do this to him, to every other slave-

Solo seethed in anger and, to Jabba’s delight, lunged at him. Jabba held up a clawed hand, stopping his Guards, who immediately stepped forward, blasters raised and fingers on triggers. At his signal, they relaxed, arms dropping to their sides.

His Court watched with eager, hungry eyes. All eyes were on Solo and Jabba.

Solo had lunged at Jabba, arms out stretched. Using his fingers, Solo searched for Jabba before finding him, his skin rough and wrinkly underneath his fingertips. Jabba watched in amusement as Solo began to scream and shout, weakly punching his thick skin.

“You drukhead, evil son of a bitch!” Solo shouted, his throat turning hoarse. He glared at Jabba, embarrassed and angered by feeling his eyes burn with tears. “Just wait until my friends find me! Chewie will rip you apart, limb from limb, and I’ll watch and laugh! When I get free, you’ll regret everything, you fucking fat slug!”

Panting, Solo sat back down on his heels on Jabba’s throne (at least, Han thinks it is his throne, judging by the cool, smooth stone under his legs), the cloth trapped under his body, feeling tired after the sudden burst of energy. His limbs felt heavy, muscles in his arms trembling lightly. Still, he glared up at the area where he knows Jabba’s face is as he sits on his throne of slaves.

“Such amusing thoughts, you have, my boy,” Jabba said, reaching out and grabbing Han’s still slightly damp hair. It had started to curl into light waves, something Han hates. It was something that he was teased about as a child, despite his long-gone friend Qi’ra insisting that he looked fine. Charming, she said.

Han grounded his teeth together painfully, as Jabba _petted_ him, like he was nothing more than an animal or pet. It was a power play, and Han _hated_ it. He hated how it brought up memories of Corellia. Of practically being owned by the White Worms. Han was surprised Jabba didn’t try to rip his hair out of his scalp due to his outburst.

“I hate you,” he spat quietly.

Jabba said nothing, but continued with humiliating the now sullen Han. The Hutt was enjoying destroying Solo’s reputation, bit by bit. Many newcomers, be it Bounty Hunters’ or fellow slavers, raised an eyebrow upon seeing the greatest pilot and his favourite smuggler be petted like a pet or, in Han’s case, a slave.

The Court’s chatter began to return, with Solo now drained of energy. Jabba knew it wouldn’t be long before he fell asleep into unconsciousness. There was a reason Han was placed in the cell, after all, with its too hot or cold temperature that keeps its victims awake for days on end.

Han slowly closed his eyes, the hand in his hair lulling him to sleep. It was repetitive, untangling knots that had formed and scratching lightly at his scalp. Sluggishly, Han tried to remind himself that it was Jabba, not Chewie, who was combing through his hair.

Chewie. Han closed his eyes, leaning against the warm, almost solid mass. Shifting to his side, Han huddled closer to Chewie for warmth. The Wookie was a great friend, allowing Han to burrow into his way onto Chewie’s chest, chasing the heat. Chewie would just grumble something about ‘younglings needing sleep’ before making room for him, wrapping his strong, thick furred arms around him.

Jabba looked down, seeing Solo passed out, leaning against his body limply. The human had finally passed out. Cruel smirk on his large lips, Jabba un-tangled his hand from Solo’s damp hair and held his hand out.

His right-hand Guard hurriedly placed Solo’s collar in his waiting hand, not wanting to anger Jabba, especially when he is in such a good mood from recent events.

Jabba inspected the collar he had made specially for Solo; it was thick and had no visible seams. The collar had two parts: the decorative piece and the practical use. The base was black and thick, made with strong and hard leather, meant to be worn constantly. Next, it was layered with a thin piece of Beskar, with “Property of Jabba the Hutt” inscribed neatly in Huttese.

It was the most expensive thing Jabba has paid his money on, and to think it was for a slave. His slave. Gripping Solo’s hair, he pulled his head up. Solo didn’t even stir, face relaxed in unconsciousness. His fierce attitude, such hostility in such a small creature, was absent.

Jabba knew he would have fun breaking Han Solo down until he obeys him. He already has plans.

Letting go of the short, wavy hair, he grabbed Solo by his neck, gently, uncommon for a Hutt. Using his free hand, Jabba clipped the collar on, pleased upon hearing it click, melting the seams together. With the Beskar protecting the rough, hard leather base, it is near impossible to remove it, save for decapitation.

Letting go of the smooth locks, Solo face planted into Jabba’s side. Lightly chuckling, Jabba turned his attention on his Court. Many were chatting, betting and buying Spice.

He caught Boba Fett’s eye. The Bounty Hunter was sitting at a table, his Beskar helmet on the table. He was watching Jabba with dark, calculating eyes as he drank alcohol that is provided freely, with two of his more better-looking slaves on either side of him. They were giggling, their hands wandering over the Bounty Hunter’s armoured form and scarred face, thin fingers following a scar to his dark hair.

Boba raised his pint to Jabba, before draining the rest of the drink.

Smirking, Jabba once again looked down at Solo. He truly was a pitiful sight. Gesturing to Solo’s Guards, Jabba turned his attention to his Court and Spice sales as Solo was dragged out towards his new room. Once again, Jabba had spoiled Solo, and now waits for his slave to awaken to start his ‘training’.


	3. Chapter Three - Training

“Again.”

Han gasped, sweat freely falling from his brow. He was hunched over, sweating heavily, leaving him feeling oily and dirty and disgusting. The sound of a whip hitting the sand, near his head, spurred him into action.

Raising his head, he looked in the direction he knew The Trainer was, with their harsh whip ready to be used. “You’re a farking moron,” he hissed, faint and hoarse, putting as much venom as he could into his voice. “and I hope you fall off a cliff.”

Cool leather slapped lightly against his chin, forcing Han to tilt his head up and expose his throat and collar. When Han woke up and felt the collar, he was enraged. For the first day in his new cell, Han screamed until his voice scratched away, leaving his throat dry as he clawed at the thing around his neck until his fingers came away wet with blood.

He received medical attention, having his throat wrapped awkwardly around the collar. _Good_ , he thought with chaotic glee, _show everyone how having a fancy collar is not fashionable and practical_. The next few days (he is not sure how long he has been in this hell hole); Han is being ‘trained’ by The Trainer.

The Trainer was a woman, with a strong Tatooine accent and a commanding voice. Judging by the sounds of her walking around him, threatening Han and slashing with the whip, The Trainer was a tall woman, wearing robes and armour. Her robes drag along the sand, while she seems to be wearing heavy set armour, leaving deep footsteps.

She leans down to his height, her armour subtly creaking with the movement. “The more you fight me, the more I get to punish you.” She purred, enjoying having control over Han. “I have no limits, but do you?”

Grumbling, Han let out a soft ‘No’. He choked, her gloved hand tightening on his throat roughly with a promise as her fingers dig into his bandages, stopping him from clawing at his own throat. “No, _what_ , salve?”

“No, Master,” Han managed to gurgle out, feeling his throat growing tight. He needs water and air.

“Hmm, better.”

The Trainer throws Han to the side, standing. Han began coughing, mouth trying to produce saliva to soothe his throat. He nearly ended up choking on it.

The Trainer watched with light eyes, watching Han carefully. When she had been tasked with the honour of breaking in Han Farking Solo, of course she jumped at the chance, especially considering Jabba the Hutt himself called for her.

The Trainer started off like many of the pitiful slaves who arrive or were born on Tatooine. She was born into it. The Trainer doesn’t resent her parents for having her, especially to how she quickly rose in Jabba’s ranks until she caught his attention by beating other slaves to submit to Jabba.

He offered her the chance to become free; train other slaves, to break them down until they were nothing before rebuilding them up with the best qualities; docile and ready to follow Jabba’s every command.

If the slaves were ordered to kill their family? Done, they wouldn’t even blink.

Just like what she did, once she gained her freedom. The Trainer’s weak, former self died with her family, as The Trainer strangles her own father until his face goes from red, blue then deathly pale.

The Trainer’s slaves never fail, never falter. Now, she is tasked with destroying Han Solo. She knows she will enjoy it. For now, she was teaching him to follow her commands with harsh punishments if he does not. It was simple, but by holding food and water over his head with the sweet promise of following her commands, it was slow work.

But, like all the other spitfire slaves, their cores eventually burn itself out. Han had started to obey her commands; granted, not every single one, earning him a back hand or hitting the back of his thighs (a sensitive spot she abuses on every slave) with her riding crop.

“I would say that you have earned yourself a sip of water. After all, good slaves are rewarded!” She said, false cheer in her voice. Han blinked, looking up at her with wide eyes.

Grasping his hand, she put her bottle in his hand. Han quickly unscrewed the lid, bringing it to his lips. He greedily gulped down the water. The Trainer waited until he took two, maybe three, large gulps before pulling it out of his hands, sending water to spill down his chin.

“W-Wha?” He asked, reaching for the bottle with a glare, despite The Trainer stepping away.

“Ah, ah, ah. I said ‘only a sip’.” She purred, running her hand through his sweaty hair, grasping his short, wavy brown locks. She took pleasure in pulling harshly, enjoying his grimace of pain. “I told you, only good slaves get rewards. You’ve misbehaved.”

His look of pain quickly turned to rage. The Trainer tried not to swoon, knowing of how much pain his back will be in once he crossed the line with her. Inflicting pain was her greatest joy in life.

“You sick bitch!” Han shrieked at her, feeling the hand in his hair shake. He bristled, feeling her silently laugh at him. “When I get out of here, you’ll be second to die- ack!”

The crack of the whip startled Han, before his back began to burn. He tried to twist away from her rough, brutal lashes, but The Trainer simply gripped his hair tighter. He gripped her arm, trying to force her to let go.

He didn’t dare try to catch the whip.

The Trainer brought the whip down, once, twice, until she gets to fifty lashes, onto his bare back. Han was gripping her arm tightly, having forgotten about trying to get away when lashing number fourteen had slashed the soft skin of his back. He was holding her arm, his grip tight in trying to hold in his screams.

Dropping the whip, she sinks onto her knees in a practised motion, The Trainer makes a soothing noise, gathering him into her strong, muscled arms. Han was shaking in her arms, as he tried to burrow his way deeper into her hold. He was gasping, his entire body shivering.

Despite that, he made no other sounds, apart from his wet and heavy breathing. She murmured at how brave he was. Slowly, he relaxed into her arms, leaning more heavily onto her, still weary, yet chasing the first signs of comfort and gentleness.

The Trainer didn’t even try to hold back her grin. The benefits of having a blind slave.

One thing she had researched and observed is something called ‘Stockholm Syndrome’. The Trainer taught herself the inner workings of the brain, what effects it and influences a person. She learned that some prisoners began to like their captures, or even fall in love with them.

The ancient text had told her of multiple ways to get into her prey’s mind. She chose the most brutal, physical method; pain. She inflicts pain, comforts her prisoner and pins her actions on the slave.

“Come on, let’s put some bacta on your wound,” she says, helping Han to stand. His breathing was still uneven, she noted. Silently, she guided Solo out of his cell and towards the Court.

Han knew the routine by now; be ‘trained’, healed, then placed at Jabba’s side as eye candy. Han knew it wouldn’t be long before he accepts the fact that unlike Vader, there is a real reason why he is being tortured and then cared for.

He feels bile in his throat when he, deep down, knows it is working.

“You know, it hurts me when you disobey me,” she said as he is forced to sit, his back to her. Han is tense, instincts screaming at him to turn, to face the other predator face on. In the end, he doesn’t. “If only you behaved today, we wouldn’t be doing this.”

“Sure thing,” Han mutters, hissing in pain when The Trainer nudges his back non too gently, “Master. Sure thing, Master.”

“Good boy! If you keep this up, I won’t need to hurt you. You’ll be a good slave, won’t you?” The Trainer says, her tone mocking. Han bristles, but doesn’t say anything. Her lips pulled into a smug smirk.

Two days ago, Han would have made a smart-ass comment that would result in getting back-handed. It seems you can teach an old dog new tricks.

The Court seemed quiet today, Han muses, listening in to short, yet entertaining conversations.

Of course, everything fell quiet when Jabba entered. The Hutt scanned the area, licking his lips once he spots Han and The Trainer. Judging by the smug look on his favourite trainer, Jabba knew that she was working her magic; breaking Han down for Jabba to rebuild.

He watched, greedy eyes taking in every little detail about Han and The Trainer.

The Trainer was patching up Han’s back, either from his riding crop or whip. Jabba has seen the damage her ‘tools’ could do. In fact, some of his slaves still carry the scars. They, of course, work with Noon Brentioch. Out of sight.

The Trainer stood, dragging Han up by the elbow, walking towards Jabba. She leaves behind the left-over supplies, knowing that another slave will likely have to clean up her messes. Then, per his order, she forces Han to sit by his side.

She nudges Han’s head up, who allows it with narrowed eyes, and clips his chain onto his collar. Placing the receiving chain in his hand, she bows, “Jabba,” before turning on her heel, walking back into the lower areas of his palace, towards the cells.

Most likely going to log everything down before moving onto her next booked slave, fresh in. The Trainer wasted no time and was precise in her planning. It was why Jabba gave her freedom; she would have wasted away as a lowly slave.

He chuckled, feeling Han tense beside him, but didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask why he was laughing or what was funny, like he would have done. But not now.

 _Yes_ , Jabba thought, _The Trainer was an excellent employee._


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jabba has a plan to finally break Han Solo's fighting spirit, and it involves Oola, one of his Twi'lek slaves.

Han sighed, leaning heavily against Jabba’s side. He doubted the Hutt would mind, considering he currently was having a nap. After nearly two weeks (according to Noon), Han thinks he has gotten the lay out of the Palace committed to memory. Or, at least, the way to his ‘room’, the washing areas, the ‘training room’ and Jabba’s court.

Han's days were planned out days before. He wakes up when the Palace is quiet, is brought to Noon for his morning bath, picked up by a gleeful Trainer, visits Noon again for his evening bath then placed at Jabba's side as eye-candy.

For the first week and a half, he fought everyone. He started fights and arguments with anyone who was willing to listen and talk back to famous Han Solo, chained at the Hutt's side.  
Han, to his ever-growing shame, has become...compliant with both The Trainer and Jabba's demands. He had learnt that if he behaves, The Trainer does not flog his exposed flesh.

But Jabba...Han shivers, feeling his entire body turn cold. Jabba is almost gentle, petting his hair with gentle motions, his three claws pressing down until they are lightly scratching at his scalp. It was a threat, disguised as a caring motions. He could easily slice through Han's skull like it was soft butter.

It felt nothing like Chewie's careful grooming. Han was not embarrassed to admit that the first time Chewie casually picked him up and sat him in his lap, he shrieked in surprise. Chewie simply chuckled, before carefully combing through his thick, messy hair with retracted claws, a low purr vibrating from his chest. At first, Han tried to resist, calling his co-pilot a grandma. Chewie took it in stride, and started to call Han 'my small cub'. Grumbling, Han had allowed it (not that he had much choice).

In fact, Jabba has off-handily spoken of rewarding him for his 'well behaved mannerisms'. Han simply looked away, deciding that even blind, he didn't want to give Jabba the satisfaction of seeing his slightly paler face.

Knowing Jabba, Han might be forced to inhale his famous Spice. Han, with Chewie at his side, knows what Spice does to someone. They become giddy, spaced out with no knowledge of their surroundings. They become addicted, going to great lengths to secure even an ounce of the vile substance.

Han is jerked out of his musings when, behind him, Jabba stirred. The large Hutt stretched out, blinking his eyes open as he yawned, showing his court how easily he can devour a large animal with a single bite.  
Jabba could feel Solo against his side; a side glance showed him that Solo was aware that he was watching him, angling his face just so that he could not see his prized slave's face.

Jabba held in a chuckle. Solo was a fun slave; much better than any of his other Twi'lek displays. Oola was his favourite Twi'lek so far, having being bought only three months ago. Her family was desperate for money, so he gave them it for a price; their beautiful daughter.

"Bring in my second-favourite slave, the Twi'lek girl," he rumbled, and one of his loyal guards, Thar, nodded, slipping away. He has a plan to finally break Solo's feisty spirit and the shy Twi'lek will do nicely. Even Jabba, who enjoys a challenge, tires of Solo's ability to get into fights when un-watched for only a few minutes. It would be impressive, if Jabba wasn't once again paying the price.

He glanced down at Solo, feeling Han sigh heavily, tan chest rising and falling with the heavy motion. He gave Solo a large grin, licking his lips; saliva almost drooling down his chin. Reaching out, he began to stroke Solo's soft, smooth hair with practised motions.

His slave tensed, before quickly relaxing. As if Jabba hadn't caught him tensing with fear. Jabba relished the power he has over Solo, for now. Eventually, Solo's friends will try to save him. The famous Jedi and lost Princess, no doubt with the distasteful Wookie in tow.

Jabba will not part with Solo completely, if they succeed. His collar gleamed, even in the soft light of the torches. Solo will carry Jabba's mark on his neck until he dies, which pleases Jabba greatly. Let Solo carry Jabba's claim of property, forever branding him a Hutt's slave.

He turns his head, seeing Thar bring the new slave forward roughly, forcing her to her knees. Out of the corner of his eye, Jabba saw Han turn to face the noise, frown on his face as his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Oola, as you requested," Thar said, looking coldly down at the slave. Oola looked scared; wide eyes as Thar placed the end of her chain in Jabba's waiting hand. She looked around, mouth opening slightly when she saw the man against Jabba's side.  
The man was handsome, clearly older than her by a decade or so. Oola couldn't help but stare into the eyes of the man, whose eyes were clear, but held intelligence behind the milky white eyes.

She had heard whispers of him; Han Solo, blinded by Jabba as punishment for his betrayal. Bitterly, she noted that his collar was made to last, the metal shining light back into her eyes, blinding her for a few seconds. Her's had no such shine or care, the cold metal tight against her throat.

"Oola, you grow more beautiful everyday," Oola heard Jabba rumble, his voice sending her heart falling past her stomach. She has heard the rumours of what Jabba does to his slaves...

Still, Oola squares her shoulders, feeling bare before the Hutt and his Court. "Jabba. You requested me?" she said courtly, nodding her head just so.

"Oola, I need you to pleasure my favourite slave, Han Solo," Jabba indicated towards Han, who instantly began to fume in anger.

He pointed a finger at Jabba, who looked down at the finger that was pointing at his chest, rather than his face, amused. "Hey! You can't demand her to perform anything on me-"

"I-It's fine-" Oola interrupted in a hurry, fearing Jabba's anger at Han's clear disobedience. Does the man know what will happen to her, to the both of them, if he doesn't keep silent and allow her to do her job?

"No! No one is going to-to 'pleasure' me!" Han spat, his eyes jumping between Jabba and the area he knows the woman, Oola, was kneeling. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, fuelled by his anger and shame. "I am not here for your pleasure."

Han licked his lips, not liking the sudden silence that followed his outburst. It didn't help his heart, which seemed to burn, beating against his ribs and lungs with desperate lunges.

Then, he felt Jabba's mass, his side, begin to shake. Han scowled, brows narrowing in anger as he fumed as Jabba just laughed, the sound getting louder and louder until it filled the room and Han's ears. He shifted his weight, not wanting to touch the Hutt.

Jabba laughed deeply, his whole body shaking. His chuckle slowly tapered off. He looked down at Han, who had a fierce glare on his face. Oola looked uncomfortable, her dark eyes shifting between Han and Jabba.

"Han," Oola nearly hissed, stressing his name. Han's clear eyes turned towards her, wide. "Let me do my job."

"...Why?" Han asked. "You shouldn't have to do this, it's awful, and I never want to hurt a pretty lady-"

"Han Solo, why so shy?" One of Jabba's men said, leering at his bare chest and arms with a greedy gleam in their green eyes. "You're going to give Jabba a wonderful show."

Han closed his mouth, licking his suddenly dry lips. It was a nervous habit Han thought he grew out of, years ago. It seems that being forced to have sex against his will was bring back old habits. Oola, whoever she is, was like him, when he was young and naive and disgustingly green.

  
"...Alright," Han finally mumbled. He could hear Oola swallow as she climbs up until she was in his lap, the only thing covering his lower half was Jabba's stupid silk cloth, which was much cleaner than Oola's, he noted. He could at least make her feel good, he thought, as Oola's shaking hands began to tease his sides. He felt sick as he reached up, wanting to know what she looked like.

Oola's eyes closed as Han's fingertips, once rough but now smoothed out with his twice-a-day washing, lightly felt over her face, shying away from her lekku once he realised that they were. She sighed in relief, thankful that Han had the knowledge that her lekku were precious to her. Slowly, she leaned forward, her lips clumsily meeting his. Han's lips wobbled, feeling disgusted in himself.

Jabba grinned, seeing how defeated Han looked and sounded. He basked in the disgust and hate both of his slaves were omitting to express. He leaned back, watching the show with glee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....yeah that happened. I had searched for a while, trying to answer if Jabba himself ever had sex with his slaves, but despite being heavily suggested, i couldn't find anything. Jabba is using sex as a weapon, as most people do in order to break down someone's self-worth. It's non-con on both Han and Oola's part (obviously). Having them do it publicly is shaming them, as it is shown that Jabba's court is filled with the worst kinds of people.


	5. Chapter Five

Han, safe in his 'room' (consisting of just a mattress, thin duvet with a small, cramped side room that was a mockery of a 'fresher), was currently throwing up his last meal (Nerf sausage, an apple that was from Coreilla and a very small portion of the best kind of Endwa) into the bowl of the toilet.

  
Coughing, Han leaned against the cool metal of the toilet, his hair tickling the back of his neck. It had grown, and was starting to curl more noticeably. His whole body was shaking as shame and disgust caused his stomach to roll, but his anger was clouding his vision.

Just the thought of Oola made his stomach churn, threatening to spill the rest of his dinner. 

Han tried to make it feel good, but knew he somehow failed. In an attempt to spare the Twi'lek woman of shame and leers from the unforgiving crowd, Han climbed a top of her, shielding her body with his own to the best of his ability. Han was used to their stares, and didn't care if they saw him naked, knowing they will harass him for it later. 

Breathing heavily, Han moved so he was sitting next to the toilet, his back to the cool stone of the wall. 

His hatred of Jabba burned brightly, and Han felt his eyes tear up. Han had been forced to rape someone. Dimly, Han knew he was also raped, that it wasn't his fault, but he pushed that to the back of his mind. He was Han Solo, best pilot and smuggler in the system, not some damsel in distress. 

Han was saved from his own thoughts when he heard his rooms door (heavily guarded, with a thick lock) open, and heard soft, bare footsteps enter his room, the door locking behind them with a 'click'.

"Han?" came Noon's voice.

"'fresher," Han managed to say, voice hoarse. His stomach churned, and he felt his throat spasm; his tell tale sign that he was going to throw up. Han flung himself to the bowl, finally heaving the rest of the food sitting in his stomach.

Soft hands lightly touched his sweaty back, holding his hair back. Han dry heaved, feeling his eyes water as the acidic taste hit his tongue, telling him that he was just throwing up his stomach acid now.

Blinking his eyes, he heard the sound of water as a glass filled with it was suddenly in his face. Han turned his head once his stomach calmed down, looking into Noon's worried eyes. "Drink," she demanded, her face showing no disgust to his un-seeing eyes.

Han took the glass, his arm shaking as he greedily gulped down the cool, clear water. 

"Thanks," he said, handing the half empty glass back. He let go once he felt her fingers wrap around the glass. Noon nodded, her eyes sharp and calculating. Having gotten to know the woman, he knew that in her silence she was trying to think of the best way to break news(good or bad) to him. "You can just say it, y'know."

Noon nodded. "Very well, stay here," she said, disappearing from his small 'fresher. She returned, holding light fabric in her hands. She crouched until her knees were resting against the cold stone of the floor. "Here," she said, placing them in his lap.

Frowning, Han felt the fabric, feeling the stiff (yet soft to touch) fabric. "It's fabric," he deadpanned, raising an eyebrow in the direction Noon was sitting.

Noon rolled her eyes. "You're a genius," she said in the same dry voice. "It's trousers."

"Who did you steal these from? They feel good, able to handle the twin suns of this stupid planet." Han asked, already removing his boots. He stretched out his toes from their cramped position, curling them before relaxing them. He put his arm through one of the leg holes, before placing his right leg through.

Noon licked her lips, watching Han repeat the movement with the left side of the trousers. "They are a gift, from Jabba."

As soon as she uttered the words, Han froze. "Han, this is a good thing. You are working your way to freedom." She tried to make him feel better, despite jealously curling inside of her chest, gripping her heart and screaming. Why does Han, who had only arrived two weeks ago, have more of Jabba's favour than her, whom he has owned for nearly a decade, since she was a little girl?

 _No_ , Noon thought, _I will not think like that_. Han is still a slave, and is probably in more trouble with Jabba than she or some other slaves will ever be. He has Jabba's full attention, something even the most hardened slaves fear.

"A gift? For what?" Han seethed, anger lacing his voice. His Coreillian drawl is absent, something which Noon thought she'd never hear. "Is it because he made me rape a poor girl?"

Noon knew of the incident he was talking about; it was the current palace gossip. Of how Jabba got one of his Twi'lek slaves to pleasure Han. Noon had the chance to talk to the Twi'lek, Oola, and her distaste for Jabba grew, with the Hutt forcing Oola and Han to have sex for his greed.

"I don't know, Han, I'm just the one who washes everyone." Noon snapped back in irritation, then cringed at how harsh it sounded. She took a deep breath. "The Tailor handed them to me and instructed them to be washed before giving them to you."

Han said nothing, slowly pulling the trousers up, making sure that the cloth around his waist was on the outside. Han sat, crossing his legs, hyper aware of how much better it felt with trousers on, instead of his bare legs (Noon told him that all slaves had to shave, and had helped him as he clumsily began to shave his legs, sighing and pulling the slightly dull blade from his grip).

"Has your stomach settled?" Noon suddenly asked, startling him out of his daze.

Han looked down. "Yea, s'fine."

His stomach was indeed better, the water helping settle the acid. His throat was sore, like he had screamed himself hoarse. He wrinkled his lip; Han hated the after feeling of being sick. He could still faintly remember soft hands guiding him to bed, along with his mother's well-spoken voice after he had fallen ill at four. Or was he five?

Han blinked away the memory when Noon began to talk. "I shall get you something light from the kitchens," she said, helping him stand. Han grabbed his boots, allowing Noon to guide him into his main room. She waited until Han felt his feet hit the thin mattress. She watched in amusement, a small smile pulling at her lips when Han proceeded to belly flop onto the mattress, only to moan when he hit his bruised stomach with his boots.

Straightening her back, Noon walked out of Han's room, allowing his guard to close the door, gripping his spear axe tightly, as if he was expecting Han to run out after her. She walked with measured steps, not breaking her stride.  
With Tatooine's three moons high in the sky, the palace was getting colder. Noon shuddered, feeling the hairs on her arms stand up. Her outfit was as revealing as all the other slaves, leaving nothing she could use to keep the heat in.

The stone beneath her naked feet was ice cold, but Noon continued. She passed Jabba's court, and peeked an eye inside. Jabba's loud snores echo'd in the large room, with his court filled with thieves, slavers and murderers all passed out, by spice or liqour.  
Noon managed to sneak her way into the kitchens. The smell of bread made her stomach rumble, but Noon ignored her own hunger.

  
"Noon?"

  
Noon jumped, hearing a familiar voice whisper her name. She turned her head, eyes adjusting to the dark to see a lithe figure standing to her right, against the wall. She recognised the figure to be Doman Anglethorn. His skin was dark, with thick silk like hair pulled into tight braids down his back, which was mangled with scars and slashes, thick scar tissue littering his back like a battlefield.

"Doman? What are you doing here?" She whispered back, grabbing the smallest piece of bread from the left over pile. While Noon was well respected, even she didn't want to draw attention to herself.

"Most likely what you are doing," Doman replied, amusement thick in his voice. "Looking after Solo, are we?"

His tone was not mocking, nor was it implying anything inappropriate, but simply curious. Despite being in near pitch black, Noon could tell that Doman had raised his eyebrows at her. Anglethorn was always curious, always hungry for new information so that one day, he could earn money to buy him and his husband out of slavery for good.

"Well, someone had to, in this hell-hole," Noon said, sadness coating her voice. Doman hummed his agreement, both knowing all too well the cruelty that seeps from the walls. "Scavenging for Jaster, are we?"

Jaster Altair-Anglethorn was from Anteevy, a mid-rim planet. Jaster was very different from his dark skinned husband, and had the typical pale skin one has when hailing from the ice planet. He had very pale features that, at first, Noon was convinced that the poor man was a ghost.

Doman simply chuckled. "You know me, my friend. Jaster has me wrapped around his little pinkie," he said, crossing his arms.

Chuckling, Noon raised her eyebrows. "That's not the only thing he has wrapped around-"

"Noon!" a very bashful Doman interrupted, a dark blush crossing his cheeks, unseen in the darkness and his naturally dark skin. 

"I jest," Noon chuckled, placing a light hand on Doman's tall shoulder. "I'm happy you found happiness in such a pale man."

"Well, you also need to visit Solo with his meal, otherwise he'll starve." Doman patted her head lightly, long fingers combing through her short locks. "This reminds me, visit me when you have the chance. I want to braid it so badly,"

"Next time," she promised, already moving to the door. Doman had a culture based around hair, similar to Alderaans, but with deeper meaning. One would braid anthers hair for friendship, hope and even for marriage, which was Doman's tight braid, framed by smaller but interlocking friendship braids from others he had met in his lifetime.

Noon continued on her path, feeling slightly guilty that she had spent such time talking with Doman. Han was likely to be starving.

Hurrying, Noon made her way to Han's door, the guard grumbling, but stepped a side. Noon calmly walked inside, her eyes moving to where Han was last seen. She snorted.

Han was on his back, staring at the roof with blank eyes. Despite Han appearing to be asleep, Noon could tell he was awake by how his bare chest rose and fell, too fast to be anything related to unconsciousness.

"I have food; bread, to help your stomach." She said, sitting down on the edge of his mattress, however thin. Han stretched with a grumble, sitting up.

He held out his hand, and so she placed the bread in his hand. Han instantly frowned. "Aren't you hungry too?"

Noon swallowed. "...Yes, but you need it more,"

Han snorted, clumsily tearing the bread in half. "Sure I do, Noon, sure I do. Here," and he held out the larger piece towards her. Noon blinked, looking down at the bread. He shook it, sending crumbs flying. "Noon,"

Noon grabbed the bread carefully, pulling it to her chest. Satisfied, Han practically stuffed his face with the bread, despite his stomach. She cringed. He will regret that later with a sore stomach.

Still, Noon relaxed, leaning against Han's side. She bit carefully into her piece, mouth watering. 

Han Solo was a strange man. He was kind, wheres others would try to control what is happening to them and others. He was not cruel; he was fair.

Noon smiled. The world could use more Han Solo's.


	6. Chapter Six

Noon hummed, titling her head back, allowing Doman to braid her short brown hair. Doman had brushed her hair in smooth, short tugs, untangling any knots with care, as if her hair was liquid basker.

With Jaster leaning against her back, Noon was allowing Doman to finally braid her hair; the highest honour anyone could have, in Doman's culture. Jaster's hair was long, longer than Noon's, but shorter than his husbands, stopping at his shoulders in a fluffy mane.

  
Jaster's hair was tightly braided from his scalp, the long main braid of marriage the centrepiece with looser braids of love and safety carefully woven into the main braid. Other than that, Jaster's pale yellow hair, almost white, was allowed to be free.

With nimble fingers, Doman tugged on Noon's hair, taking care to not pull at her scalp. Satisfied that the hair had been knotted, showing off her friendship braid, Doman pulled away. "Done."

Noon smiled, reaching up to feel her braid. Jaster moved against her back as the pale man (it was unfair someone so pale ended up on such a harsh hot planet, with twin suns beating down on its inhabitants) placed his chin on her shoulder.

"Looks nice on you, Noe," he said, his jaw flexing against her bare shoulder.

"Thank you, Jaster," she smiled, before taking hold of Doman's hand in her own. She stared deep into Doman's dark, almost black, eyes. "and thank you, Doman."

Doman smiled. "You are a friend, almost family,"

"Hell yes Noon is! Noon Brentioch, bad-ass woman from Tatooine and our future saviour," Jaster smiled into her shoulder, his pale hand reaching to reach below her collarbones, finger brushing against her circular tattoo in the middle of her chest, above her breasts.

Noon made a gruff noise of amusement as Jaster followed the blood red tattoo upwards, into the curve of her collarbone then down her left arm, poking at her muscular biceps. To be a tease, she flexed her left bicep. Jaster laughed into her shoulder, knowing she was silently reminding him that he will never be that muscular. Jaster was tall and thin, with more subtle and lean muscle than Noon's surprisingly strong body build.

Noon's family had been in the process of applying their traditional Tatooine tattoo's when drought struck. Desperate for money, Noon of Brentioch, daughter of Sake and Tyria Stol, and daughter of the Dessert, young Noon volunteered to be sold to Jabba.  
Sake was devastated, locking himself in his and Tyria's room. Tyria looked into her daughter's determined green eyes and instantly knew; Tatooine itself has willed it so. Tyria gave her daughter one last gift; the symbol of strength on her chest.

The rest, as they say, was history.

"Alright, I need to do my shift," Noon says, gently swatting Jaster's curious hands away. She stood, looking down at herself with a frown. Wearing nothing but a metal bra that left nothing to the imagination and a thin rag to cover her genitals, Noon wished she could wear more. A simple cloak would do.

"Wish Solo luck, will you?" Doman asked, as Noon walked to their shared quarters door. Noon paused, then nodded. Doman nodded himself. "That man shall bring the end of Jabba's rule, who will die by our hand."

Jaster groaned, rolling his eyes. He nudged Doman lightly. "You and your dramatic lines."

Doman huffed in amusement, eye twinkling as he looked into Jaster's eyes. "If I remember, that's what won you over," he said, before placing a kiss on Jaster's lips.

  
Rolling her eyes, Noon took that as her que, slipping out of the room. Easily remembering the route to the washing quarters, Noon glanced outside.

The twin suns were slowly rising, as the palace began to turn hot. Noon did her job, filling the washing tub with hot water.

She looked up as she was testing its temperature; Han staggered in, his skin pale and sweaty. Noon straightend herself up, drying her hand.

"Hello Han," she greeted, with Han mumbling a 'Hello' back. He reached out, fingers touching the rim of the tub. Satisfied he knew where the tub was, Han began to strip. 

Noon shifted her eyes away, giving Han privacy. She heard Han drop his clothes, before the water shifted, slouching about. Han groaned, sinking down into the hot water that warmed him to his core.

"You can look," he said, staring at the direction Noon usually stands. He heard her hum before she picked his clothes up, dusting them off before placing them to the side.

"Did you sleep well?" Han heard Noon ask him as she combed through his still dry locks. The water rushed about, as he heard Noon collected water in her palm before wetting his hair, beginning to wash his hair.

"Fine. 's normal. Thanks for giving me the bread," Han paused before continuing. "Really, you didn' need to do that for me."

"It's alright Han. You are a friend to me. Besides, Jabba is trying to see how he can control you," Noon told him as she pulled her fingers from his hair. "Hand."

Han opened his hand, and Noon placed soap into his hand. Thanking her, Han began to wash himself as he listened to Noon move about. She was light on her feet.

"Noon?" he asked.

"Yes Han?" he heard her reply. He couldn't see her turning to look at him, a curious look on her face.

"I swear, once Luke, Leia and Chewie get here, I will free you." Han promised.

Noon smiled. "Thank you Han. I'm sure you won't have to wait long for your friends to rescue you."

He frowned. "No. Luke will not leave you, or any other slaves, behind." He paused. "It's something he has always wanted to do. Luke's a good kid, and from Tatooine."

"Oh," Noon's lips parted in surprise. "What is his family's name? I may know relatives."

"I doubt it. Storm troopers killed his aunt and uncle. Think their names were Lars, or maybe that was someone else?" Han frowned briefly to himself. "Skywalker. Luke Skywalker."

This time, Noon did gasp. Sky-Walker? Every slave-born, every freeborn, knew of a Sky-Walker. Anakin Sky-Walker, a slave who managed to win the pod race. "Sky-Walker?" She asked, saying the name with care.

It seemed fitting that Luke and Anakin share the same family name: Sky-Walker. Everyone knows of the tale of the Sky-Walker, able to travel the skies freely; making deals to save slaves from their cruel master.

"Sky-Walker, son of Anakin?" She asked, leaning loser. She needed to know.

"I-uh, yea. He's Luke's dad, but we don't really talk about that. His dad died before he was born, or something like that." Han replied, shrugging.

Noon sat back, amazed. At least Ankain died a free man, rather in chains, bound to a single master. Feeling her heart swell with hope in her breast, Noon smiled.

"Brentioch! What is taking you so long?" Noon and Han jumped, hearing the harsh voice of The Trainer. Noon cleared her throat, looking into The Trainer's helmet.

"Nothing, Master. Han will be ready in a few minutes," Noon replied, dropping her gaze to the floor, showing her submission. Unseen, her fists clenched tightly.

"Be that he does. I will not tolerate a delay in my schedule." The other woman's voice was cold and crisp. With that, The Trainer turned on her heel and swiftly walked away, her boots heavy on the stone ground.

"Best not to make her angry," Han said before standing, Noon handing him his clothes. 

Noon helped Han put on his clothes before stepping back. 

"Goodbye for now, Han. Doman wishes you luck."

"Doman?" Han cocked his head, curious.

Noon smiled. "A fellow friend."

Han nodded. Then, with Noon pointing him in the right direction, walked outside to meet with The Trainer, to be walked into the empty room to be made 'compliant'. Han narrowed his eyes at the blackness in-front of him; Noon was right, no matter what

happens to him, Jabba will try to secure control over him. 

It was time to test his acting skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art work done by me
> 
> Noon: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/215961744619907236/
> 
> The boi's: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/215961744619907434/


	7. Chapter Seven

Han, after only two days, feels like he is going to scream. Whenever some ass-hole gropes his exposed back (which Han has become very protective of (he's looking at The Trainer for the new habit)) or makes some cliche suggestive comments, Han has to bite his tongue, otherwise it might get ripped out of his mouth.

At least he could rant to Noon, who only winced in unseen sympathy. She agreed, saying it is a dreadful experience, being treated like a piece of meat. Han simply grumbled and Noon silently patted his hand.

And the worst thing Han is doing is agreeing with Jabba's opinions, if the giant Hutt asks Han an opinion. Jabba knew Han did not agree with his views, and often placed Han between a rock and a hard place. Agree with Jabba and sentence a slave to death, or defy his new 'Master' and sentence the slave to a life of sex work and spice addiction.

Han only chooses the former, the sight of a slave on their knees, eyes dull and skin heavily bruised burning through his eyes and into his mind. Those types of slaves have been beaten down until only their body remains; even then, they do not have control.

Jabba, on the first day of Han calling him 'Master' and obeying his commands without any sass, took it with a grain of salt. It seemed the Hutt had wanted to see how far he could pushed, and now it seems he finally broke his new slave in.

Still, Jabba was very unconvinced. Han Solo was, and still is, a man whose soul burned brighter than a star. Even then, stars always collapse in on itself, no matter how long it takes to get there. Jabba knows this, having witnessed the death of a star.

On the third day, Han kept silent, answering only when spoken to. Word had spread quickly like a wildfire; Han Solo had been tamed at last. Hearing that made Han want to strangle Jabba, knowing he was the one was started the rumour.

But, Han needed to bide his time. Chewie would not leave him behind; his Life-debt wouldn't allow it. No matter how much Han hates the life-debt, he had some comfort in knowing Chewie will come. Luke and Leia would likely have some sort of plan.

Leia always does.

Han sighed, thinking of the Princess.

Princess Leia Organa. How did he ever get so lucky? Leia had an amazing mind and strong will. She, along with Luke, have managed to encourage him (Han Solo, best spice smuggler in the galaxy) to become a better person, to do good. Something that pleased Chewie, who usually just rolled his eyes whenever Han mentioned that he was a bad person.

Leia, who confessed her love for him. He knew, but the kiss sealed the deal. It was not romantic, born from a woman desperate. Rather, their last kiss was filled with a promise. I'll find you.

"Master Jabba," Han titled his head, keeping his expression calm upon hearing Noon practically coo Jabba's name. If he didn't know better, Han would think, based on her tone, that she adores the Hutt. Noon was always good with honeying her words, something that Han has learned to expect of slaves.

Still, what was Noon doing? The woman despises Jabba and his Court, so what is her plan, her motive?

"Noon Brentioch, what pleasure is this that I see you before me?" Jabba rumbled, voice loud and booming.

"May I have the pleasure of ...'washing' Solo in my private chambers? My other slaves seem to be lacking in bed, and I've heard such glowing reviews from Oola." Noon calmly asked, voice sweet but strong.

Benhind him, Han could feel Jabba's large mass shaking with laughter, as the large Hutt piratically went into a laughing fit.

"Oh, Noon Brentioch, how you surprise me, my dear! So bold, so beautiful. You are a true woman of Tatooine: you take what you want." Han could hear the sound of his chain shifting, pulling him forward. "Take Solo for a week. Enjoy him, my girl. May he be used however you wish."

Han quickly got to his feet as, he guessed it was Noon, jerked on his chain, nearly sending him face-first into the concrete ground, as the collar has been designed to not choke him. "Move it, Solo, or I will move you." Her tone was calm, but sounded lustful, something Han never wanted to hear from her. Han had no choice back to follow, hearing the wolf whistling of the Court greet his back.

Noon said nothing as she led him to her quarters. It seemed to be near the washing chambers. Instead of taking a left, where Han knows it will lead to the pathway to the corridor before expanding in the washing chambers, Noon walks forward.

Suddenly, she stopped, Han running into her back. Han didn't expect Noon to turn, back handing him. "Watch where you're going, you stupid slave!" She hissed before laughing, her voice cackling. "Oh wait, how could I forget, you're blind!"

Her door swoosh'd open, and Han was thrown in. The door closed, then Noon was snarling in disgust. But not at him. "Jabba, you are a piece of shit. I hope he swallows something and chokes on it."

Han blinked in confusion, pulling himself up onto his elbows. He felt dizzy, stomach churning. A down side to being blind, Han realised, other than behind unable to see anything (duh), is that motion sickness comes easily. Sometimes, Han doesn't know what direction he is facing.

"Uh, Noon? I think you're confusing Han," a new, unfamiliar voice said. He, Han guessed it was a he from his deep rich voice, sounded faintly amused and worried.

Noon cleared her throat. "Oh, Han, I'm so sorry! There were guards watching, and if they even suspect that I was bringing you here just to talk, Jabba would sell me without a second thought!"

Small, rough hands cupped his face, and Han simply smiled. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from Noon; for a second, Han thought that she was really just biding her time to get his trust.  
But no, this is Noon Brentioch. Of course she'd never be that sadistic.

Noon un-clipped his chain, throwing it over her shoulder. Judging by the sound, the chain hit the wall and must have landed on something soft, as there was no more noise.

Noon clears her throat. "Han, I would like you to meet my friends, and, I, uh, brought Oola along."

Cold ice hit Han's body. How could Noon do this to him, to be in the same room as the woman he had been forced to rape, who had no choice !-

"Solo," Oola said before stopping, "Han," she tried again, with a softer tone of voice. "Han, I want you to know this and remember it: I do not blame you, and I will never blame you. What happened between us? I will remember it, as it is the first time I experienced a man who was gentle and considerate.

"I'm not proud of it, but I've had sex with whoever had payed Jabba the most. Most of the men, who only see my body and not me, only focus on themselves. You shielded me from the leerful stares of the court. You didn't need to do that. You are a kind man; a good man. You showed more bravery in putting me first than covering yourself."

Oola crossed her legs, sitting more comfortably on Noon's thin berth. Her lekku were subtlety flexing, showing her aggression. They continued to radiate determination-anger-thankfulness.

The Twi'lek glanced at Noon, who was side eyeing Jaster and Doman. The Altair-Anglethorn's were sitting close together, Jaster nearly perching on his bemused husband's lap, who was tense as a bow string with nervousness.

"Oola, I, I-Thank you," Han rubbed the back of his neck before fisting the long hair sitting at his nape, curling it around his fingers harshly. He stared at the floor, and Oola wondered what he was thinking.

Jaster cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the room and cutting the awkwardness like a knife through soft butter. He leaned forward, shifting his weight so that Doman's thighs received most of his weight and not his genitals. 

Jaster has a nasty habit of somehow kicking or kneeing Doman there. Doman always smiles tightly, eyes practically screaming 'Why are you like this?'.

"Hello Han! My name is Jaster Altair-Anglethorn. I'm a friend of Noon's, and I'm very happy that Noe managed to sneak you into our quarters." He smiled, his pale fingers curling around Doman's right hand.

Han titled his head, looking straight at Jaster. Jaster, despite knowing that he couldn't see it, beamed at him. Han then squinted his eyes at Jaster as he thought back to what Jabba had said.

"Are you one of the slaves Noon said "seem to be lacking in bed"?" Han asked, hearing Noon sigh to his right and mutter 'Here we go again' under her breath.

Jaster couldn't help himself; he burst out laughing, falling out of Doman's lap and sent face-first into the cold, hard ground like a sack of potatoes. The man continued to giggle away before Doman sighed, long and tired, before picking Jaster up and placing him beside Doman.

Jaster leaned heavily on Doman, still giggling.

"I apologise for Jaster. He still thinks its funny that everyone thinks that Noon keeps us around for sex," Doman explained with an eye-roll. Han smirked, Noon and Oola hiding their grins behind their palms. "considering that Noon does not have an interest in sex."

Oola gasped, leaning forward. "You've...?" Her eyes were wide. Oola understood that some people of any species have no interest in sex or children, but living as a female slave who, in Oola's opinion, was easy on the eyes?

Oola counted herself lucky that she, sometimes, enjoyed sex forced upon her.

Noon coughed, clearing her throat and, willing herself to not panic, looked Oola in the eyes. "At first. Everything changed when I tried to sterilise myself using only a dull knife," she pointed to the, now very obvious, thick white line that was just slightly above her golden belt. 

It was not easy to notice, as her belt hides the scar just slightly. Her red tattoo's, running down her sides, drew attention from her lower stomach to her sides. She is both grateful and superfluous of her tattoo's. 

Jaster coughed, his giggling having faded away when Doman intervened. Still, despite being the one finding Noon trying to carve her womb out with a frantic look on her face, her blood spilling down the curve of her hips...Jaster was horrified.

For the first time in his life since managing to get smuggled and enslaved to Tatooine, Jaster was afraid. He loved Noon like a sister; losing her would devastate him. (It also allowed him to meet Doman, who came to Noon's rescue.) 

"Noon-," Han began, reaching our for her hand. She silently placed her hand in his. "Mark my words; we are going to kill Jabba and free the slaves."

Han couldn't see Noon's soft smile. "Thank you, Han. We must stick together to survive. Are you certain your friends will find you?"

Han frowned as he became the focus point of the small quarters. "Yes. Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa, with my first-mate Chewbacka of the Millennium Falcon of the Rebel Alliance, will find me. I don't know how or when, but be prepared.

The reason why I am here is because I owed Jabba a debt three years ago, and due to joining the Rebel's, I never could pay off my debt. Darth Vader knew this, and used the Imperial Army to lay a trap for Luke when me, Leia and Chewie were caught on Baspin. Luke's a Jedi," he explained, somehow knowing that everyone present was givng him blank looks. "I got forzen in Carbonite, and you all know the rest."

"Hmm," Doman pondered, hand unconsciously fixing Jaster's hair, cleaning off any dirt and stray sand from the pale golden locks. "The Rebels...They resist against the Empire, and sometimes cause more civilian death and chaos than the Imperials."

Jaster tucked his face into Doman's shoulder. Jaster himself was caught in a Rebel attack on his home-planet, Anteevy, and in the chaos, was captured by a Slaver. He was bought and sold, being traded from one pair of hands to another, before ending up on Tatooine.

Whoever thought it would be a great idea to send someone from Anteevy, an ice planet known for freezing temperatures and blizzards, to a dessert planet such as Tatooine, where the planet drains all moisture from the air and from the people, Jaster thanked them.

On Tatooine, he found the love of his live in Doman Anglethorn and best friend in Noon Brentioch. Jaster Altair became Jaster Altair-Anglethorn, husband of Doman Anglethorn and friend of Noon Brentioch.

"Well, the Rebel's aren't perfect." Han said weakly, his argument lacking any conviction. He simply heard Doman, the man with the deep voice, hum again thoughtfully.

"Well, I for one hope we manage to overthrow Jabba," Oola said, looking at Noon, then at Jaster and Doman before her eyes finally landed on Han.

Noon narrowed her eyes, her dark green eyes glinting with determination. "We have waited years for a chance, and Han is offering it. We bide our time, even if it takes a year, or ten."

Jaster, Doman and Oola all nodded in agreement, faces determined, with Han (somewhat ruining the comment by) looking in the opposite direction. 

Noon smirked, her lips tugging up slightly in amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gangs getting together. Yay! Also, most characters in my story will not like sex (as some have no desire for sex (Noon) and others want to save it for someone they love (the boi's))
> 
> Images of characters:  
> Noon: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/215961744619907236/  
> The boi's: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/215961744619907434/
> 
> Also, if anyone is confused about Noon's tattoo's, it is separated into two parts. The top half is basically goes from her collar bones, down either side of her arms, and has wrapped around her bicep and has lines before continuing down her arms. She has a circle with a line on her chest. On her back, she has another larger circle, with a line following the curve of her spine with multiple lines going down her back and slightly to the side.  
> Her second (lower )half is connected by her back and the lines down her front. From there on, she basically has lines curling around her legs before stopping at her ankles.
> 
> As for Doman, he is taller than Noon and Jaster with more muscle. Jaster, as I have stated before, is very thin with slim muscle. He is around the same height as Noon, but has a few cm's on her.


	8. Chapter Eight

"Is it Noon? I _bet_ it's Noon." Jaster said, squinting at Noon. She stared back, her face deadpan as she was using a datapad to try and improve her Basic if they planned to join the Rebellion. Speaking Basic with a heavy Huttese accent was not how Noon wanted to present herself. 

"No Jaster, It's not Noon," Doman sighed, pushing Jaster until he rolled over. Jaster allowed Doman to push him, going limp. Still, he squinted at his husband from upside down. "Or the wall, or rock, or whatever you have guessed."

"But you described the thing as ' _small, irritating, and is always there_ '" Jaster quoted.

Noon didn't look up from her datapad. "Fuck you," she said, but it lacked any heat or malice. Jaster only wiggled his eyebrows, causing Doman to shake his head.

Jaster huffed, crossing his arms. "This is a stupid game."

Stilll without looking up from her datapad, however old and out-dated it may be, Noon rolled her eyes. "You are the one who suggested it."

"Noon, why must you betray me like this?" He wailed. "Our friendship, gone. My loyalty, destroyed. Leaving with Doman, Immediately."

Hearing this, Noon flashed him a smirk. "As if you could get rid of me, Jay. You said so yourself."

"Stop being dramatic, Jaster. It was sand," Doman intervened, gesturing at the sand that (somehow) managed to make its way into the trio's shared quarters. The three of them stared at the sand, before Noon mutters that it was Doman's turn to clean the floor.

Jaster heaved himself upright, cursing when his legs got tangled in the faded, sun bleached purple cloth. Even in the slave outfit, consisting of a belt and cloth, along with a thin arm band that curled around his bicep, Jaster stuck out like a sore thumb.

Jaster, being a side chef of the Palace, was also allowed to wear a shawl, after he was forced to stand outside long enough to for his skin to react rather...negatively to Tatooine's twin suns. His skin became irritated, turning a bright red with huge welts appearing over the already sensitive skin. Jabba, once he learned of what happened to one of the cooks he favours (apparently Jabba adores how Jaster makes Chuba stew, saying how it tasted just like how one of his favoured chef would make it), allowed

Jaster to have a shawl and to have a half an hour session in a bacta tank.

Of course, immediately once Jaster was out of the bacta tank, he was kicked back into the kitchen. He spent the rest of the day making sure that his freshly pink skin didn't get strained or touched.

"Sand is stupid." He grumbled, trying to not sulk like a child and failing.

Being a native of Anteevy, Tatooine both frustrated and fascinated him. The main problem of Tatootine for him is the suns; they could easily burn his sensitive skin. On Anteevy, most of the light was reflected, allowing the planet to be cool without being freezing. He thrived there, his skin near an advantage.

"You don't need to tell us Jaster." Noon muttered loudly enough in Basic, her Outer Rim accent near gone. Both Doman and Jaster blinked. Noon didn't have a drawl per say, more like she pronounces certain words, lingering on vowels.

"Noon, Han has assured us that you don't need to get rid of your accent. Hell, Han's accent could be considered worse than yours, and he is well respected in the Rebellion. Doman frowned, sitting up. "I think. I imagine, anyway, to be able to do dangerous missions with the Jedi and Princess." 

Noon sighed, setting her datapad aside. Crossing her legs and leaning forward, her stomach folding in on her abs in a way Jaster describes as 'cute' (he says it looks like it is frowning at him angrily), she looked at Doman and Jaster. She frowned, looking around their cramped quarters. "Where is Han?"

Doman peered out of their small window to get a view of the twin suns. The window was too high for anyone to climb out of, and was too narrow. He grimced, the light too bright for his eyes, but he got what he wanted.

"Han should be arriving soon, as will Oola."

Jaster snuggled into Doman's chest, peering up at him through his lashes. "Have I ever told you how smart you are?"

"Jaster, I was just reading the suns position in the sky," Doman protested, even as his chest swelled with the compliment. Jaster just smirked, and leaned up to start softly kissing Doman, flicking his tongue out playfully, making Doman snort and pull away, chuckling as he rubbed their noses together.

The door to their quarters opened, and a fuming Oola stormed in. Everyone else, except their fellow slaves (who watch in amusement), think that Noon is somehow a sex god, considering she 'has' two males sleeping in her quarters, with Han and now Oola visiting her quarters after hours. 

Still, no one has approached Jabba to pay him for Noon's services. Doman thinks it has something to do with how Noon nearly broke the last mans arm who tried. Still, Jabba got payed while the man ran off whimpering, cradling his heavily bruised arm.

How Thar thought he could get away with hat, he has no idea.

"Oola?" he asked, looking the Twi'lek over for any injuries. 

His chocolate brown eyes quickly dart over her body, and a part of him still squirms at looking over a near naked body. Despite the fact that Jaster and him only wear a loincloth and boots, while all females are forced to wear the same thing only with a terrible made bra and arm band, it still makes him become uncomfortable.

Oola crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the floor while her lekku curled at the tips in her anger. "It seems Jabba wants a new dancer," she spat. "He fed the last one to the Rancor, and he requested me to replace her."

"Oh my god," Doman whispered, horrified. 

Everyone knows the Jabba's dancers never last longer than a few months. Being fed only scraps and forced to dance for the Hutt's pleasure, it would not take long to bed fed to the Rancor.

Usually, the dancers are pretty Twi'lek females, due to their grace and how easy it is to find a female Twi'lek slave. Forced to wear literal strips of thin, see through cloth, Jabba would force them to dance for his entertainment.

Noon sat up, her back straightening up as she stared, wide eyed, at Oola. "Oola..." she said, opening her arms once she placed her datapad aside. Oola walked the few steps to Noon's thin mattress, and curled into Noon's arms. 

Noon ignored how the metal of Oola's revealing bra, like her own, dug in between her seventh and eighth rib on her left side. Oola clung to Noon, and Noon tightened her arms around the distressed Twi'lek in response.

Doman, catching sight of Jaster's face tripping, kissed his forehead and wrapped his arms securely around his slim waist. He could feel Jaster's fingertips lightly trace the more thicker scars on his back, the scar tissue too thick for him to feel much.

"We _will_ be free," Noon whispered. 

They were silent. No words were needed.

It was silent. Noon didn't know how long it lasted, but it broke when her door beeped before swishing open, revealing Han.

If Noon could describe Han in one word, it would be 'tired'. He was slouched and sluggish as he walked into their quarters, his skin a touch too pale as his eyes were drooping, almost closed.

"Noon, 'ere are you?" He asked, his blind eyes staring at the floor.

"Here, Han," Noon answered, her voice soft and equally as tired.

Han grunted, carefully walking over to Noon and Oola. Once his boots hit her mattress, he carefully crouched, unintentionally flashing Jaster and Doman when his loincloth shifted.

Thankfully, Jaster and Doman were too busy cuddling, their voices near whispers.

He reached out, finding Noon's warm shoulder before he slowly turned, crawling backwards until he layed next to Noon, theirs shoulders touching. 

"Want to talk about it?" Oola asked as Han stared at the ceiling. Noon furrowed her eyebrows, poking Han's wrist until his larger palm settled into her own.

"I'm fine," Han said after a small pause. "It's just...I heard about Rullin."

At the same, Han caught the rooms attention.

"Rullin..." Jasper said, biting his lip. "He was kind, and didn't deserve that."

"Deserve what?" Doman asked.

It was Han who answered. "Rullin was accused of stealing food from Jabba's ' _guests_ '," he spat out guests, as everyone knew that they were all people who profited off of slaves. "The woman ordered him to be executed for his ' _crimes_ '."

"No," Oola gasped.

"He was chained to the floor, and someone used a dull sword to slowly hack away at his neck by his accuser's request. I didn't see it, for reasons, but I heard his screams until his head was ripped off. It was worse when Jabba fed his last dancer to the rancor."

Han shuddered. The worst thing was that he was forced to stand beside Jabba, while the Hutt forced a new young woman to sit with him. He felt ready to throw up, and it seemed that the poor girl who was next to Jabba did.

"All the more reason Jabba should pay." Noon vowed, before glancing outside. The second sun is touching the horizon, bathing the sand planet in a blood red glow. "The second sun is setting, we should get some sleep."

Han sighed, relaxing on Noon's thin mattress, taking comfort in her body heat. He heard rustling, and the sound of metal being unclasped. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Noon and Oola had removed their uncomfortable bras.

If Han was anywhere else, been younger, and still had his sight, he would have been thrilled to be laying next to two topless women. Now, he just felt sad. Han heard more rustling, and a large thin blanket was pulled over them. 

"You going to remove your boots?" Noon whispered in his ear. Han could almost picture her face (generic, as he has never seen her), stern and worried.

Han groaned, using his feet to slip off his right boot, then did the same to his left. Bootless, he pulled his feet close, resting them against something warm.

"Cold feet!" Oola complained, but did nothing.

Han slowly drifted off to sleep, the room filled with Jasper's soft snores. 

-

Han was slowly brought back into awareness, with something warm and soft snuggled up into his back. He groaned, rubbing his eyes. Whoever was at his back only cuddled closer, either Noon or Oola, pressing their chest to his back, tugging him back and throwing a warm leg over his.

He heard low whispering, too low to be Oola or Noon. "-how many times do I keep telling you, I do nothing to my hair." 

A pause. Then, "You want me to believe that you do nothing for your hair? It reaches your lower back, yet feels so smooth and soft, like silk. Well, whatever silk feels like."

It was Doman and Jaster. Han doesn't know the men very well; he knows they are married by Doman's culture, but not by Tatooine or Anteevy's culture. Something about braided hair, which was why Doman has such long hair. Apparently. Han has never seen it.

The men were nice, but often worked long hours. From the week he has spent sleeping in Noon and their quarters, Han could tell they love each other very much. Jaster showed his love openly, but only in their quarters. Doman was more reserved, but it was there. 

If any of the Guards suspected they weren't there for Noon's pleasure...Han suppressed a shiver. He had been forced to sit next to Jabba, listening to other slaves be flogged for the Court's pleasure as they scream and beg to the sadistic crowd.

"Jaster, enough about my hair. Han is awake," Doman's smooth voice cut Han from his thoughts. "Did you sleep well?"

"'s alright," Han said. "Whose the octopus?" He inclined his head behind him.

"That would be Oola," Jaster cut in, amusement in his voice. "You thought it was Noon?"

"She was beside me when I fell asleep," Han shrugged, making Oola grumble a 'no' in her sleep, her grip tightening. "Don't mind. I'm a cuddler."

"Oh-ho-ho," Jaster said, his voice much closer than before. He mock-whispered the next part, "Doman's a cuddler too. He wraps himself around me. Of course, it gets interesting if he wakes up with a-"

"Yes, thank you Jaster," Doman cut in, voice sharp and tight while Han gently snorts in amusement.

It woke Oola up. "What's happening? I'm up!" She said, opening her eyes and flinging herself away from Han, leaving him stunned. She sat up, leeku pulsing as she read the room, before looking down at who she was cuddling, her cheeks flushing a deeper green. She coughed. "Oh, ugh, thanks for the cuddles."

"No problem?"

Oola sighed, not bothering to cover her breasts. She was in a room with two gay men and one blind man; there was no point. Besides, she was not body shy. With her role as a living decoration and sometimes sex slave, it was quickly removed, like all slaves in Tatooine.

"Where's Noon?" She asked, grabbing her bra from the floor. Doman made an offering motion, which she accepted by slapping her bra into his hand. She turned around, Doman reaching around her to allow her head to be put through the chain, taking care to not touch her leeku or collar.

"She has already left, Thar was sent to retrieve her." Doman explained, pulling the bra closed, and allowing Oola to push her breasts into the cups before clipping it closed.

"Thar? Is he still seething over what happened between them?" Oola asked, causing Han to tilt his head.

"What happened between them?" Han asked, remembering the man. Thar mostly sneered at him and Noon, with his buddy Nios-something making comments about how fun it was to be a guard, surrounded by slaves. (Han didn't like to think about what he meant by that comment.)

"Well, a few weeks before you arrived, Thar tried to pull a few moves on Noon. By moves, I mean try to fondle her." Oola explained, curling her lip in disgust. "Noon may look slim and fit (which you don't know, sorry Han), but the woman is strong."

"Noon nearly broke Thar's arm. It took three guards to remove her." Doman said. "However, they all stayed silent. Thar and his group thought it shameful that a woman, especially a slave, was able to nearly break his arm. Jabba still got payed, but I think he knows what happened."

Doman peered outside, catching sight of the first sun making its way up into the sky, with the second sun breaking dawn for the second time. "You will be collected by someone soon to be washed. Jaster, you need to start your job."

Jaster and Doman shared a quick kiss, before Jaster walked out the door, heading towards the kitchen to start pre-pairing meals. 

"I better go as well. I need to be fitted by the Tailor for my new...outfit," Oola said, annoyed. Doman and Han nodded, then the Twi'lek was gone.

Han sighed, just as the door swished open. "Solo, come with me," a guard said, voice stern.

  
"Good luck, Han," Doman muttered to Han before the man was 'guided' by the guard by a tight grip on his bicep. Han bit his lip, knowing that he was headed in the direction of the washing chambers.

Another day in this hell. At least his day starts with Noon.


	9. Chapter Nine

Princess Leia Organa huffed, crossing her arms as she waited for Luke. She was dressed as a bounty hunter, the armour unfamiliar to her as she held the helmet underarm. Leia trusted Luke and his crazy, stupid plan.

Even while she waited in the hanger of the base, Leia couldn't help it; she went over the plan again in her mind. Luke will send Threepeo and Artoo to be (temporarily) sold to Jabba, while she and Lando would hand over Chewie, further gaining the Hutt's trust.

Then, she and Lando, who will free Chewie, will let Han out of the Carbonite after Luke had appeared before Jabba.

  
Leia's heart fluttered at the thought of Han. As soon as she could, Leia researched what happens to people who were stuck in Carbonite. Sickness and blindness was common. An extreme case would be that the person's cornea's will thicken and turn white, rendering them blind until they can get laser surgery to carefully remove the thick tissue.

Thankfully, the cornea would not die, otherwise Han would be forever blind, eyes glazed over.

  
Lando has re-assured her that Han would likely have carbonite sickness, due to being frozen for nearly seven months. However, he has sternly warned her (her, the most responsible person out of the lot of them!) that there was a chance that he could be blind with the thick eye tissue. Something to do with how the body deals with the stress.

Leia had raised her chin, and confidently told him that "As long as Han is alive, I don't care." Lando had chuckled, before muttering about how Han knowing how to pick 'em.  
Leia doesn't care about Han's history. He may be a smuggler and scoundrel, but he was her smuggler and scoundrel.

"Leia?" 

"Hmm?" she asked, turning to look at Luke. He smiled softly, a sharp look in his eyes.

"It's time."

Finally, she thought, pulling the helmet over her head.

-

"Noon?" Han called out, slowly walking into the silent washing chambers. He heard water rustling directly in-front of him, to where Noon says she washes high paying customers.

"Noon isn't here right now,"

Han froze, knowing that modulated voice. If Han could see, he would be staring directly at Boba Fett, who still had his helmet on, even in the privacy of the wash room. It was a ridiculous sight of a grown man sitting in a hot tub, sprawled out shamelessly with him resting his arms over the back of the warm tub. 

Boba Fett may look relaxed, but the tell-tale sign of tensed muscles betrayed his willingness to jump out of the tub, naked as the day he had been decanted, to defend himself if things turned violent.

"Where's Noon, you sleemo son of a bantha!" Han snarled, apparently to Fett's amusement as his modified chuckles meet his ears as Han's cheeks flush with his anger and terror.

"One might think you are turning native, with that type of language," Fett says, not answering Han's question. He relaxed, now knowing that Han won't attack him, considering how stiffly the blind man was holding himself. He silently sighed in relief, tilting his head back, but keeping an eye of Solo.

The man didn't need to know that Boba was baring his throat to him.

"Is this what you are doing now, becoming Jabba's prized attack dog?" Han said, narrowing his eyes in anger as his lip curled. It may not be wise to insult Boba Fett, but Han is done with playing nice after nearly six months of being a slave. "That reaps the rewards of bringing back a bounty. I bet you get off on it."

"Are you done?" Boba asked, growing slightly irritated as Solo continued to insult him. He is a bounty hunter; going to the highest bidder. Kirff, if the rebellion payed well, Boba would be on their 'side'. But they are poor as shit, so the Empire it is. His personal beliefs are not strong enough for him to say 'No' to credits. "Besides, between the two of us, you are the dog in the situation."

Han growled, but heard light footsteps near him. It was Noon, judging by the stride length and sound. Noon was always on the balls of her feet when she walks, allowing her to move more quietly. Han still thinks that she should deserve boots to protect her bare feet from the boiling hot floor.

"I have the- Han!" Noon said, looking up from the bottles of lotion in her hands, spotting Han staring down a naked (sans helmet), bathing bounty hunter. "Is it time for your bath already?"

She walked over to where Boba was resting, placing the bottles of lotion by his tub. Boba was watching her, smirking beneath his buy'ce as he could see how Solo stiffened anew when he sensed that his 'precious' Noon was standing beside him.

"Noon, you have Boba Fett in a tub-" Han began, knowing how ridiculous he sounds.

"-Really Han, I have everything handled," Noon said before turning her attention to Boba. "Now, tell me, will you do it?"  
What? What was Noon talking about? Han tried to whack his brain to find out what she was talking about that he startled when Boba started to talk.

"Of course, a deal is a deal, after all. I've been licking Jabba's metaphorical boots for the past few months while standing all pretty for him, and he has finally given me access to his vault of wealth." Boba drawled, rising out of the bath, accepting the towel Noon hands him before wrapping it around his hips. 

He walked towards the bench, sitting down. Noon sat in front of him; facing him. Boba may trust Noon to help fund the rebellion of the slaves (he has spent too many days reading his fathers experience as a spice slave lately), but Noon is far too cunning for him to turn his back on her.

After all, even the tamest tooka had sharp claws and even sharper teeth, his buir had often warned.

"What are you two talking about? Noon, you've been dealing with him?!" Han asked, and even Boba could hear the wounded pride and betrayal in his voice. Boba simply huffed, watching as Noon coated her hands with the oils before lathering it onto his muscled chest, covering both skin and the thin layer of hair that Boba has started to grow out in Tatooine's suns.

(He always enjoyed hot planets, but Tatooine tested even his tolerance. He also learned why all the slaves are clean shaven, to force them to lose precious water sweating during the day and to shiver at night, when the heat leaves with the suns, leaving half-naked slaves cold and wet.)

"Han, you have to understand," Noon said, voice tired as she moves onto Boba's biceps, spreading the oil in smooth, practiced circles. "What happens after we are free? We'll be homeless and poor, something that is a bad combo on this planet. Besides, Boba came to me."

"Oh, he's 'Boba' now?" Han sneered. "He froze me in carbonite and handed me over to Jabba!"

Boba was carefully watching Han from under his buy'ce. The ex-smuggler seemed to distressed at the thought of him, Boba Fett, to be near Noon Brentioch. Boba nearly laughed aloud when it finally clicked in his mind what Solo was so worried about.

"You worry for Noon. That I want to have my debt to be re-paid with sexual favour." He bluntly stated, ignoring how Noon tensed at 'sexual favour'. She knew she had nothing to fear from him, after he bluntly told her he didn't like sex. Too messy and it would leave him without his armour.  
Han's pale eyes bore into Boba's with surprising accuracy for a blind man. "Of course I do. Noon is a female slave, and we all know what happens to many."

"Well, rest assured Solo, I am not interested in Noon that way." Boba replied, amusement creeping into his modulated voice as Noon wipes away the left over oil from her hands, standing and walking over to Han.

"Han," she hissed, grabbing roughly onto Han's bare arm so tight that Boba could see her grip and his arm had turned white. She dragged the silent Han over to the tub Boba had just left.   
Han grumbled and began undressing. Out of respect for Solo, Boba turned his gaze elsewhere (he may be a bounty hunter with nearly no morals, willing to torture and kill others, but watching a slave undress tests his limits. No need to kick an already downed dog, after all) and only looked back when he heard Solo slide into the water.

"Han, I know what you are trying to do and stop it. Boba is getting some of Jabba's treasures as payments (not slaves, gold, you idiot!) and I want this to go smoothly. Never, never, speak on my behest." Noon whispered harshly to Solo, and Boba felt his respect for the woman grow.

Maybe if Boba was interest in sex, maybe he would have been a better ally to the slaves Jabba forces on him. Boba turned his attention from bounty hunting to the slim chance of retiring, maybe meeting someone and making them his Warrior Riddur. They were fantasies of a eight year old boy, who still had his buir and swore to the Manda'lor way of life.

Like all fantasies, they are shattered by reality. Boba's been eyeing up Jabba's criminal Empire. If he was going to die, he was going to die with style, stars damn it!

That doesn't mean that he couldn't enjoy Solo getting verbally destroyed, if Solo's frown was any indication.

"I have done my part, Noon. You shall receive a weapons shipment under the guise of spice in exactly three days. Once I get my money, we part ways," Boba rumbled, both Noon and Solo looking up when he spoke.

Solo was still frowning, but Boba saw that it had turned thoughtful. Whatever. He didn't need Solo's approval. 

After all, Boba will retire for good with the money he steals from the Hutt, and might even try to woe the blond cook and his riddur (if they were looking for a third), maybe adopt some Foundlings to continue the Fett line of clan Mereel, with or without a spouse. Cloning was out of the question, as Boba knew some of his buir's clone's still roamed the galaxy, physically and mentally older than his buir ever became and for that alone he hates them.

Maybe. Boba still had time to see if he wants to retire or continuing bounty hunting until he drops dead, if his plan fails. Still, Boba swore to himself that he would outlive Jango Fett's clones. He was petty like that.

Noon nodded. "Thank you, Boba." Solo rolled his eyes, but said nothing as Noon cleaned away the dirt and sand that has made its way into his long, shoulder length hair.

Boba watched them, tilting his head thoughtfully. Did he really want to retire? Bounty hunting is all he's ever known. Hell, his own buir got him made simply because he wanted a son, to carry on the Mereel/Fett line. He may not be the best buir material, but Boba wants what his buir craved enough to make a deal with the Sith; a family, a son.

Noon looked up when Boba finally moved, walking towards the changing chambers are. His armour and clothes have already been washed and buffed, but per Boba's request, his armour was not repainted or repaired.

She sighed, turning her attention back on Han, who started to whine that she was tugging on his hair too roughly. Rolling her eyes, she splashed him with water. She nodded to Boba as he left, her heart beginning to lighten. She never expected to be approached by the bounty hunter a few weeks ago, and for him to be so earnest in stopping the Slave trade made her see a different side to the usually silent Mandalorian.

However, the feeling in her gut only tightened. Something big was going to happen, and Noon feared what it would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yea, very late update. this chapter has just been sitting on my pc while I keep writing. i hope I've wrote Boba right, considering when I wrote him I was basing him off of some snips of the comics, tv shows and movies I've seen him in. I was like 'what!!!??' when he showed up in season 2 of Mandalorian and overthrew Bib Fortuna. So I guess I had him not far off? I wrote him as a realist, who pretends he doesn't have a heart and only cares about money. I also consider him neutral and not a villain. He just loves his money.
> 
> Also, Noon is Ace, if you haven't gotten the clues. I based her off of me, considering I'm also Ace. Boba, to me, is demi, considering I based him off of boba 'I don't have pre-marital sex' fett that I have seen. I have no idea if his daughter is cannon yet, so until she is, boba is single and ready to mingle (after like two years of knowing someone lol). 
> 
> Can i just say i love Jaster and Doman's relationship? I don't write romance, but damn, I think I've done well.


	10. Chapter Ten

"You have some explaining to do."

Noon winced, seeing the stares of shock on Jaster and Doman's faces. Han was sulking in the corner with Oola sprawled out on his covered thighs, resting her head on his hip.

Neither were bothered by the contact, and it relieved Noon to see Han and Oola become friends after what Jabba had forced them to do.

"Well, it's complicated?" Even as she was saying it, Noon winced when Jaster and Doman shared a Look. "But, we now have supplies!"

"From Boba-Fucking-Fett, yea," Han muttered, before one of Oola's lekku lightly curled around his leg in warning.

"Fett may seem like one of Jabba's thugs, but when has he ever taken a slave girl out for a few rounds? The only time I saw him drink was when Jabba was showing Han off like a new prize." Oola lazily said, un-concerned with the tension in the room. "Pretty sure he let the drink dribble back into his cup, considering he never needed a re-fill."

The silence lasted for a few seconds, before Doman leaned forward, his thick eyebrows hanging low over his dark eyes as he frowns. "Is he to be trusted?"

"Yes. I can tell you how he came to me, if that will satisfy the masses?" Noon asked, taking one long sarcastic look around the cramped room. Doman still looked un-happy, Jaster has his 'I have a plan look' (which usually means he is planning something so stupid it somehow works. It's how he got his job, after all.) and Oola was dozing, listening with her eyes closed as Han sulked.

Hmm. Han looks thinner. Noon will make a comment to Jaster and his sadistic court of cooks, who will give him more food to 'keep their Master's pet healthy for the Great Jabba'. Honestly, the amount of sand Jaster puts in the food in place of spices is a skill Noon wants to learn from the albino man.

"Blow us away, Noon," Jaster said, winking and clicking his tongue in a suggestive manner. Doman pinches one of his nipples in retaliation. "Ow, my nipple!"

Noon shakes her head to hide her chuckle, making herself more comfortable. As she begins to tell the tale, her right hand traces the tattoo on her chest, following the circle in a soothing pattern.

_Noon picked up the bucket, hiding a frown as she made her way to the Court's quarters. As the head cleaner, Noon sometimes has to personally clean whoever-Jabba-is-employing's room. Not the best of jobs, but it gives her a break from washing naked bodies. She did not need to know that high court member Mit Zondell has a very bad tattoo of a naked woman like tooka on his ass._

_What strikes her as odd, when she enters the room, is that is perfectly clean, except for a stain on the stone floor._

_"Psst."_

_What the? Noon looked to the side, where the bounty hunter called Boba Fett was standing the the shadow of the room, the flaked and damaged armour giving away his identity almost immediately._

_"Are you the one they call Brentioch?" Boba Fett asks lowly, tilting his head up slowly to stare into Noon's shocked green eyes as his dark visor met them. Even with the deadly man talking to her, Noon felt slightly smug in knowing she was taller than Boba Fett._

"Did he seriously get your attention by getting you to clean his perfectly spotless room save for one spot?" Jaster asked, raising a sleek eyebrow. At her nod, he hums. "I dig it. Sounds like the start of a bad porno."

"You've never even see a porno," Oola drawled, opening one eye to stare down Jaster. 

"Please." He scoffed, before giving the twi'lek a cheeky grin. "Me and Doman-"

"-Doman would like to not be involved in anything to do with pornos." Doman quickly said, his tone of voice telling just how tired he was of his energetic husband. "We all know you are horny. Please wait until we are free before we talked about pornos."

"Bad pornos," Jaster helpfully pointed out, before nodding, a serious look falling on his face. "And I'll take that deal, dear husband of mine."

"'onestly, surprised I haven't came back to see them going at it like banthas." Han said.

"Anyway-!" Noon loudly interrupted the talk that had quickly went off topic. "Now, what I may tell you might shock you." She leaned forward, a smirk pulling at her lips. "Boba Fett has only two braincells, and they are dedicated to credits and bounty hunting."

"Shocking." Han's sarcastic drawl made everyone laugh.

_"Yes, I am." Noon squared her shoulders. "Now why did you carefully make a mess in the middle of your room before calling for me?"_

_"I have a deal for you. I know you are well connected to the other slaves. I only want one thing out of the deal." He said, his words causing her to tense._

_Of course. She couldn't help but be disappointed. All men that Jabba employs seem to all want one thing in return; the pleasure of a slave woman's body._

_"You want sex for my network?" She bluntly asked, raising an eyebrow._

_To her shock, Fett seemed to choked on his own spit as he started coughing. "W-What? No, you foolish woman! Jabba's credits!" He managed to choke out. Oh, she thought. Oh, Noon realised._

_Maybe she had judged Boba Fett too harshly. Hmm. He has never took any pleasure slave, male, female or in-between for his own pleasure, so he has that going for him. Hmm, choices, choices._

_He was still choking when Noon decided she would hear about his proposal. She silently watched as he took in a deep breath, getting his breathing under control. "It seems that I'm not very good at talking to people. I'm not interested in sex and likely never will, so you have don't have to expect...that."_

_He waved a gloved hand in a vague flapping motion, Fett's head tilting down. He was probably pulling a face behind his red and green helmet. Looking at the man before her, Noon can't seem to picture him slitting throats and taking in bounties, dead or alive._

_"So what do you want, Mr. Fett?" She asked, narrowing her eyes at the bounty hunter._

_"I want to ruin Jabba and his pathetic Empire of slaves. What better way than the slaves starting a revolution with a good supply of weapons?" He said, rolling his shoulders in a relaxed shrug. "I'm offering to arm the slaves with good quality weapons. In return, I will take 1/4 of Jabba's wealth from his own vault. You can keep the rest."_

_"1/4? Why so low?" Noon asked, eyeing him in a new light. "You could take all of it and claim it as debt."_

_"Frankly, even I'm not that heartless." Fett deadpanned, then continued in a softer voice. "And...my father was a spice slave for a few months, long before I was...born. His body bore the mark of others' cruelty and I don't want it to continue to happen to others."_

_"My, a bounty hunter with morals," Noon said in a half mocking, half surprised tone. "but I feel that you have bigger plans."_

_Fett stared at her, tilting his head. He made a thoughtful sound._

_"I swear to you, I plan to end slavery on Tatooine after Jabba is overthrown. I promise you that, but I do have bigger plans."_

"Yea, now that sounds like a reliable man." Han sarcastically commented. "'I have bigger plans', that sounds so trust worthy. Noon, I think you're too trusting of 'Boba'."

Noon rolled her eyes at Han's pointed barb. "Well, I have an idea of what Boba wants to do; become King of Tatooine."

"Really? How did you deduce that?" Jaster asked, resting his head against Doman's 'soft tits', as Jaster fondly calls them.

Oola scoffed, finally sitting up to stare at everyone. "Please. Fett keeps saying that he'll end slavery on Tatooine, and who has that power? Jabba, or whoever is the King of his criminal Empire." She then leans against Han's arm, ignoring his protest that she was too heavy. "Guess even Jabba's credits can't buy a man's loyalty forever."

"Hmm. Will he kill Jabba personally?" Doman asks aloud. 

"Have you seen that man? He is a walking tank and is wearing beskar!" Jaster exclaims, waving a hand. "Even on my planet we know that beskar, once forged into armour, is indestructible. Not even a lightsabre can cut through it."

"You know a lot about beskar, Jay," Noon says. She knows what beskar is, but honestly didn't realize that Boba's armour was beskar. She thought it was durasteel.

Jaster's look goes all smug. "I have a Mandalorian great grand-parent. Granted, they were exiled and labelled dar'manda, but I know some of their language, customs and history. Pretty sure that Fett is also a royal."

"WHAT?" 

Jaster winced. "Hey, don't all shout at me! Fett's father was adopted by the King at the time, my name sake, Jaster Mereel. Mereel died, title went to Fett Sr. and then he disappeared. If Fett is really his son, then we, my friends, have been visted by royalty."

"But wasn't Mandalore under the rule of that Duchess? Satire something?" Doman asks, looking down at Jaster. "Before my parents were sold into slavery, they heard about this extreme pacifict Duchess."

"Ugh, don't even mention her. My mando great-ba'buir cursed that woman to eternal hell. When news spread that she was killed, my great-ba'buir threw a party. Anyway, long story short, the Duchess went to the Republic to put her into power despite the fact there was a civil war going on."

"She went to a corrupt government to become ruler of her planet? Wasn't there a thing that the Republic couldn't intervene in civil wars because, they were, y'know, civil wars?" Noon asked, confusion in her voice. 

"Power corrupts, Noon." Oola said, her twi'lek now curled around her neck and shoulders. "Just look at the all mighty slug."

"True. Can I continue my story on how I have apparently met a royal?" Noon asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Technically, his father abdicated-" Jaster began before Noon began to re-continue her tale.

_"Hmm." Noon said in reply. The silence stretched between them was long and tense, before Noon sighed and held out a worn hand. "A deal is a deal, Fett. As long as you come around with your end of it, you will get your payment."_

_It was a logical plan. Noon has dreamed of the day that she could finally be free, to go back to her small village and take her mother and father in arms. She would finally wear black, the colour of the free._

_Fett benefited from their deal, in his own way. Noon may not know his end goal, but he seemed sincere enough. Whatever he saw on his father must have eaten away at his conscious until he decided to end it all while stealing some credits at the same time._

_"Boba. My name...ugh," Fett seemed to hesitate as they grasped each others forearms in agreement. "You can call me Boba, not just Fett. If you, uh, want."_

_"Wow, you really don't do small talk." Noon commented, a smile pulling at her lips and creasing her cheeks._

_"I usually only one-liners and make threats, yea," Boba agreed as they separated. Noon hums._

_"Call me Noon, not any of this 'Brentioch' business. That's just the name of my village."_

_"You are named after your village?" he asks, not mocking, like Thar and his squad of idiots did when they found out._

_"Mm. We only name ourselves once we reach adulthood. My father's name is Song and my mother's name is Breaker. Together, they are the Song-Breaker of Brentioch."_

_"Wow...mine just means farmer." At that, Noon barks out a laugh. "Laugh all you want, its originates from the word Vhett, meaning farmer."_

_"A farmer is a noble job. I'm sure you made your father proud when you decided to become a bounty hunter. You need credits for your family, no shame in that." Noon said, turning to look at the stain that started the whole mess, missing Boba tensing behind her._

_She had no idea what doubts she just planted into his head like a seed._

  
"So I cleaned up the stain, which was easy to remove and continued my shift of dealing with overweight, sleazy, naked men and women of the court." Noon says in a bored tone.

"Was he really that nervous talking to you after the deal was made?" Oola asked, her eyes wide as she stared at Noon with large, dark curious eyes.

Noon shrugged. "More like he didn't know what to say after he got what he wanted. I have a feeling he is used to just talking or imitating his way out of conversations."

"Considering how dark it is, may I suggest we continue this tomorrow?" Doman asks, with Jaster practically asleep on his chest. He opened his free arm to Noon. "Come. I doubt Oola wants to share Han, so you can join me and Jaster."

"Such a gentleman," she teased, standing and taking the short strides needed to reach Jaster and Doman. She heard Han grumble about Oola and her tendency to sprawl across her chosen victims as she un-clipped her bra, freeing her sore breasts from the metal death cages.

Doman raised his arm in invitation and Noon crawled into his side, resting her head on his chest, mirroring Jaster.

"Doman?"

"Mm?"

"Jaster is right, you do have perfectly soft tits."

Doman sighed as Jaster chortled in glee.


	11. Chapter Eleven

"I hate you."

" _I know_." Boba smugly told Han as they both shared the bath.

It was a ridiculous scene, two grown naked men sitting in a steamy hot bath with one blind and the other wearing a buy'ce. 

Boba sighed, hugging his legs close to his chest to avoid touching Solo. That, and he was weary at what Solo would do, even blind. "Alright, lay it on me."

"What? My bad pick-up lines? 'Oh my, what strong muscles you have'." Han asked flatly, staring slightly to the left of Boba.

"C'mon, give me the big speech of how I have ruined your life forever and you swore revenge. Mostly the same story I get, despite the fact I just find people who try to hide from their crimes or debts and deliver them to the client. So, lay it on me." He said, his accent slipping into his speech with every word.

Most people are surprised at his accent and how normal he sounds. It was how his father spoke, and how he speaks. Boba doesn't like talking much anyway, he gets too awkward and anxious and usually overthinks even the smallest details. He sticks to one or two worded responses and that benefits everyone.

"I-Really?" Solo asks, surprise in his voice. "You want me to air out my problems with you?"

"Sure. I'm told talking of your trauma helps."

"Asshole." Solo mutters under his breath, then points a finger vaguely in his direction. "My problem of you is that you work for Jabba! And the Empire! You hunted me down and froze me in carbonite!"

"Is that all?" Boba raised an eyebrow behind his buy'ce. "Well, we both worked for Jabba, so very hypocritical of you. The reason I work for the Empire is because they pay good credits for their bounties, and being a Bounty Hunter isn't cheap. Plus, I think Vader's got a man-crush on me or one of my many brothers, considering the amount of times he personally calls for me. Speaking of Vader, he changed the terms of our agreement when he put you in carbonite. I was not pleased when he wanted to see if you lived or not to test out the carbonite chamber. Despite my reputation as being a hired killer, I do like delivering alive bounties."

Solo was silent. He had a constipated look on his face, like he had bit into something sour instead of sweet. "Noon told me you only do it for the credits. Is that right?"

Really? "I do have a moral code. It's just different to yours, Solo. Besides, no-one wonders what I do with the credits. What if I'm paying for an orphanage or something?" He let amusement to creep into his voice. 

Well, even Boba isn't that perfect. He's saving his credits, yes, but for what, he does not know. Yet. And hey, he has managed to nearly sextuple his father's wealth in doing so.

"Some could say they can but your loyalty." Solo shot back.

"Some could say that, but I usually turn down a client for those reasons alone when I know they think because I have done a job for them, I'm loyal to only them. Only reason why Jabba is paying me to stand pretty is for imitation and power. He's literally paying me to do nothing, Solo."

"...Wouldn't call you pretty." Han finally bites out as he chews over the information Fett, sorry, 'Boba' has given him. To his shock, Boba actually laughs.

"Hmm, I could take off my buy'ce in-front of you and you wouldn't be able to tell." 

Was Fett teasing him? He must be, for his amused tone allowed his accent to suddenly thicken. It was strange, but not unwelcome, to hear Fett speak in actual sentences, like a normal person.

"I bet you have long golden hair and plush lips that are naturally red and glossy." He teased back as he relaxed.

"Mmm, I haven't told you of my supermodel days then," He heard Fett say, then he heard the water slushing about as he moved, stretching out with a hiss. Fett wasn't so bad, even if he did seem to have a one-track mind on bounty hunting.

"You know, you can call me Han." Han said, blurting it out before he could regret it, deciding to take a piece of Noon's tactics for a spin.

Fett was silent, then, "Call me Boba. Noon will be soon, so we better get professional, lest she think we were kissing and giggling like school girls."

"Excuse you, I'd make an excellent school girl." He shot back, his face pulling up into a wide smirk.

"You know, I worry for you, Han." Noon's voice came from the back room as she near-silently walked into the room, Han listening to the long loin-cloth's swish back and forth with her stride.

"Alright, Boba, you can get out first. Thankfully, you won't impress Han with your naked body as you do." Noon said, and Han could hear the smile in her voice, even if he could only see blackness.

He heard Boba climb out, the sound of wet feet hitting the stone floor before the soft sound of Boba wiping himself dry before he walked away, his stride more slowly and heavier than Noon's. He is used to his spurs, Han thought, meaning he has no use to be silent.

"I see that neither of you are dead yet. Have you managed to reach a compromise?" Noon said, and Han didn't know if she was talking to him or Boba. He will admit, he is a bit jealous that Noon is so casual around Boba, but knowing that the Mandalorian literally does have a one track mind helps ease the sting. 

Noon is like a sister to him; annoying, bossy yet downright charming at times. She is tall, just a smidge taller than Han. If she was tall to him, he knew she had a good few inches on Boba. The height threw him off for a few seconds, as he always imagined the fearsome Boba Fett to be at least six foot.

Boba made a grunting noise, and despite himself, Han rolled his eyes. He may be blind, but he has statements to make! "Me and little princess have an understanding."

"Who are you calling princess?" Boba said, his tone a half confusion, half growl. 

Han smirked, not caring if he was staring at Boba or not. He better not be, because that would be dramatic. "You, oh fair princess. Heard you are royalty, that your father and grandfather were Kings."

Boba was silent. Then, "You know my father abdicated, right? I'm not royalty. Fuck, I'd rather die than become involved with Mandalorian politics."

"Very dramatic." Noon commented drly. "Alright Han, get out."

"Why not? If I found out that I was royalty, you bet that I would take the chance to become King." Han said as Noon helped him out, wrapping him in a towel before she guided him over to a bench, handing him his clothes.

Boba just grunted. "Considering that a former-terrorist thinks she has more right to the throne than me because I'm a clone, I'd rather just let her destroy her own culture with her arrogance. Her sister did."

Clone? Boba was a clone? Well, there was the clone wars that happened just over twenty years ago, an army filled with engineered clones for the Republic …wasn't the template a guy called Fett?

"Huh, cool. Your dad basically became a plant." 

"A...plant?" Boba sounded so confused, it was a pleasant surprise for Han. He made the big bad bounty hunter confused. "Why are you comparing my father to a plant?"

"Yes, I do want to know what is going through Han's head right now." Noon said, amusement in her voice as she finished slipping on the arm-ring, the final piece of his ridiculous outfit.

Han flushed, knowing his skin was turning pink. "Well, plants reproduce on their own, right? Your dad basically did that. Thinking on it, it sounds stupid. I am stupid."

"I think it is very sweet." Noon said. "Many people think being a clone is shameful. While not a clone myself, I was made by vitro-fertilisation due to a fertility issue with my mother. If Boba and his father are plants, then I am a flower."

"Why are you two being so poetic, with metaphors and all?" Boba asked, and Han could hear the narrowed eyes directed at them.

"Because people are cruel," Noon simply answered with a shrug.

"...Jabba has hired a band to show you and Oola off today." Boba said as he walked away, and if his voice was slightly choked, neither Han or Noon commented on it as his spurs become more quieter until neither could hear the soft clinks.

Han sat there, with Noon next to him, shoulder to shoulder. "Do you think your friends are coming?" Noon softly asked in the quiet room.

Han heaved out a heavy sigh. "I have a feeling. A gut feeling. And it's never wrong."

He felt Noon rest a heavy hand on his naked shoulder. "I trust you." she whispered as the voice of Thar was heard, the cocky guard loudly heard even before he was in front of Han to 'guide' him to Jabba's throne room. Noon removed her hand and, in view of Thar, shoved him roughly.

"Heh, nice one, Brentioch. Remind me to save us a room, if you know what I mean," Thar said as he roughly grabbed Han's bicep, dragging him out of the room to the sound of Noon's loud noise of disgust.

  
Today was the day everything changes, he thought to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally we are now at the start of RotJ. This is a short chapter but I feel is packed with small Easter eggs. 1) Han, in the Legends comics before it was declared non-cannon, is either from a royal house of Solo or is a Noble man, I can't remember which. 2) Han calls Boba 'princess' and before season 2 of Mandalorian came out, the nickname was originally 'princeling' and i couldn't help myself as i have no impulse control. 3) it is revelled that boba is a clone! the whole 'plant' metaphor is something which I personally found funny, as when I was studying bio and the whole asexual stuff made me think of the clones.
> 
> Side note, the condition that Noon is referring to in this chapter is Polycystic ovary syndrome, or PCOS. basically, the ovaries are not working due to these fluid like sacks that enlarge and surround the ovaries. It is very common, and I have this. There are women our there who want kids and can't due to it, which is why i included the vitro-fertilisation. also me wanting to say that there other ways to get kids, aside from banging or cloning.


End file.
